**Part two of Amanda's perspective**

Amanda gazed at her monitor as though shouting 'jinx' cast a love spell on her thoughts--a tornado of jitters swirling in her belly. Be rational, she reminded herself. He's fixing your Wattpad account. This isn't a video hookup.

Untangling her finger from her necklace, she couldn't take her eyes off Ian's gaze. There was something about him she was drawn to--a magnetic simplicity she couldn't explain. Simple haircut and button-up shirt. Quiet demeanor and gentleness when he spoke. The intoxicating lure of his subtle charisma. Physical features both unremarkable and absolutely perfect. Why are you doing this to yourself, Amanda? You've been down this road before. You know how it ends. The equation equals divorce. The brilliant mind of a critical thinker doesn't mix well with the creative mind of an unlimited dreamer.

As if knocking a glob of negativity out of her soul, a hand unexpectedly tapped Amanda's back near the shoulder blade.

SCREAM

SCREAM

Amanda jumped out of her seat screaming--arms swinging as though swatting at a swarm of bees. Her chair fell and smacked the ground behind her, perfectly positioned for her to stumble over as she turned to see who touched her shoulder. Falling to the floor on her knees, Amanda winced in pain. Not only were the areas around her kneecaps throbbing, but the image of her alleged attacker was an agonizing sight as well.

Winnie rubbed her whiskers and chin against the leg of the fallen tripod. Amanda's cell phone--aka, the attacker's hand--laid face down on the floor.

"Amanda?" a male voice called from the laptop on the table above. "Amanda, are you okay?"

She whimpered. The situation was so--Amanda. It seemed the harder she tried at anything, the quicker she failed. Dating. Dieting. Writing. A real world social life. Love. If she wanted something too badly, her probability of failure increased. Why does this always happen to me, she cried inwardly while lifting the phone and tripod off the floor. A little luck, maybe? Just once, Cupid?

"Amanda?" the male voice called again.

Adjusting the tripod, Amanda gave her cell phone camera--and friends--a whatdafuckhappened look. With her back to the laptop, she lifted the chair off the floor. A wave of sickness flooded her stomach. Her skin felt clammy. Waving a hand in front of her face, Amanda took a deep breath in hopes of calming her nerves. I can't, she thought. Me--a running joke at Wattpad--for sure. I can't face them.

Reluctantly, Amanda slumped back into her chair mustering every last bit of courage she could find from within. Too embarrassed to look at Ian, her eyes focused on the slew of messages from her friends while her lips said, "I'm sooooo sorry."

[Geri: Your boob is out!]

[Jeannie: ABORT!]

[Jeannie: OMG!!!!! DON'T SIT IN FRONT OF THE CAMERA!]

[Mona: Best. Video chat. EVER!]

[Mona: I can't wait to see his face!]

[Geri: Drop to the floor!]

[Geri: DROP NOW!]

[Geri: Drop! Floor! Fix boob!]

Amanda leaned to the side until she fell out of her chair and hit the floor with a thud. She prayed her heart would leap out of her chest and cause instant death. It was half way there already, her ribcage barely able to contain the pressure of an increased heartrate. And breathing. Amanda couldn't remember how to breathe. Her lungs ached from a lack of oxygen as she patted a hand around her chest.

Sure enough, upon inspection of her low-cut shirt, she discovered one of her boobs hanging out of the neckline. Well, technically it was half a boob. Her push-up bra still covered part of the nipple. In any case, her ninja moves to bring down the tripod rapist must've shimmied one of the ladies loose.

"Just kill me," she whispered to the heavens on the verge of tears. "I choose death over finishing this video chat."

"Amanda?" the male voice called once more. "Amanda? Are you okay?"

With her back against the floor, Amanda side-eyed the cupboard where the tequila was kept. At this point, alcohol would likely improve the situation. If it didn't improve it, the tequila would at least help numb the pending humiliation.

Looking towards the heavens once more, she thought, The Force is supposed to be with me, not against me! Hard to go towards the light when I'm FORCED into darkness all the time.

"Amanda?" the concerned male voice asked again. "Should we call someone to help you?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Amanda mumbled, irritated by the fact she couldn't just kick the laptop onto the floor and be done with this debacle. The last thing she needed was an ambulance in front of her condo and first responders knocking on her door.

Scurrying to her knees and double checking to make sure her boobs were in order, Amanda plopped back into her seat situated within the camera's view. With a soft voice, she asked, "Do you have everything you need to fix my problem?"

Ian shook his head and blinked a couple times. "Are you okay?"

[Geri: breathe]

A scruffy looking man wearing a HACKER: My other computer is your computer t-shirt wheeled into view in a desk chair on Ian's right. "Hey. Sloth here."

[Jeannie: What's his name?]

[Jeannie: Are you okay, A?]

Sloth placed his arm around Ian's shoulders. "I think we figured out the problem. Simple adjustment." Tapping Ian's chest with his other hand, he added, "Data will have your account fixed before he leaves tonight."

As Sloth was talking, Amanda shot off a few desperate messages to her friends.

[Amanda: What should I say?]

[Amanda: He's hanging up!]

[Amanda: What do I do?]

Ian glanced at Sloth--his expression hard to read. Eventually, he turned his focus to Amanda and smiled. "I think we figured out what the problem is."

[Geri: It's been an eventful evening]

[Jeannie: I don't know, hun]

[Geri: Maybe don't do anything right now?]

[Mona: Nada]

Amanda felt the weight of disappointment drop in her stomach. Even Mona seemed to lean towards retreating--and Mona never retreated when it came to lust and love. C'mon, Amanda. If it was meant to be, then--. Maybe it's for the best.

"That's great!" It was a half-hearted attempt at enthusiasm. Pushing her insecurities to the side, Amanda looked Ian in the eyes for the first time since the clumsy clown show. For a split second, she thought she saw a hint of disappointment in his expression despite having solved the mystery to her bug report shitshow. You're only seeing what you want to see, she rationalized. A disappointed heart plays cruel tricks on the mind.

"Wait!" another male voice shouted as a man wheeled behind the other two in his desk chair, reappearing on Ian's left side.

[Mona: Shabby man-nerds are multiplying]

"I have to hear the Swedish Cyborg."

"C'mon, Mouth," Ian scolded under his breath.

[Geri: He read the bug report]

[Jeannie: What does a Swedish Cyborg sound like?]

[Jeannie: Listening]

Amanda hesitated to see if the conversation would move on without a comment or impersonation. Unfortunately, the three men on her screen seemed to be waiting for a performance. Since messages stopped popping up in Messenger, it seemed her friends were waiting for a performance as well.

"A cyborg with a Swedish accent is like--." Amanda paused and looked upward, searching for the right words. "It's like a really stiff Swedish person more so than a robotic accent."

"Show us," Mouth encouraged, a grin plastered on his face as he gave Amanda his full attention.

[Geri: Oh, no...]

[Mona: Awkwardness limit has been reached]

[Mona: Not possible to get more awkward]

Amanda stiffened her jaw, neck, back and shoulders. She made jerky movements as she spoke with a horrible Swedish accent. "Erma Swedish Cyborgrgen. Resistancenn is footilenn." Loosening her posture and speaking in a normal voice, she added, "It sounds so much funnier when everyone's had lots of tequila."

[Jeannie: I'm dying]

[Jeannie: You slay me]

Mouth laughed and clapped his hands. "I'm impressed." Adjusting his voice to give his own cyborg impersonation, he said, "Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own."

Amanda tilted her head to the side and smiled, "Does that mean I'm part of the club now?"

With arms folded across his chest, Sloth nodded--a grin being battled with on his face. "Yes. Placing his hand Ian's shoulder, he added, "This guy owes me ketchup chips."

[Geri: Despite everything...]

[Geri: I think you charmed them somehow!]

Sloth stood up part way before he stopped and looked into the camera. He patted his pec muscle and said, "Don't worry. No one will see this tape. I'll make it vanish."

Mouth laughed. "Because of Boba Fett and the Oreo baby?"

Sloth studied Mouth and Ian for a moment, then nodded. "Yep. No one needs to see our unprofessionalism." Quickly glancing once more into the monitor he added, "Nice to meet you, Amanda."

[Mona: There's something about shabby-nerd man]

[Mona: Why do I want him to hack me?]

Wiping popcorn kernels off his belly as he stood up, Mouth also nodded towards the screen. "Your technological distinctiveness will be repaired by morning and the mature button will no longer be a problem."

[Jeannie: How about that one, M?]

[Mona: Nope]

[Mona: I'll pass on cookie hands]

[Mona: He looks like he wears socks and sandals]

"Thank you," Amanda called out to Mouth as he disappeared from view. Her eyes settled on Ian, the last Wattpad engineer left on her screen. "Was there anything else you needed from me?"

Ian puckered his lips slightly and shook his head. "Nope. I think we have everything we need." He paused as though wanting to say something, struggling with the right words--but an exhale signaled his attempt had been defeated. "Did you have any other questions or concerns for us--me?"

"I think that's it. Everything else seem to be working fine."

"Good. I'll make the needed adjustments and close out this ticket."

"Thank you."

"Thank you for your patience with this matter."

"Thank you for staying late to help me fix it. I really appreciate it."

[Mona: Vomit...]

[Mona: Thank you vomit...]

Ian smiled. "Not a problem. That's what we're here for." Tapping his desk with a pen, he added, "So--I guess that's it. Let us know if for some reason the problem doesn't seem to be fixed, and we'll take another look at it. Otherwise, I think this bug has been solved."

No, Amanda's heart pleaded. This can't be it. Please don't hang up on me--forever! "I will, thank you. It was nice meeting you, by the way."

"It was nice meeting you, too."

"I hope the rest of your evening goes well."

"Same to you."

An awkwardness hung in the air as both Amanda and Ian hesitated to disconnect from the video chat conversation. Instead, they stared at each other for a moment or two until eventually Ian's image went--black.

**Ian--after hanging up on Amanda**

As Sloth gathered his leftover snacks and headed for his desk, Mouth pointed to a spot on Ian's screen, highlighting the glitch giving Amanda's Wattpad account issues. "The problem's right there."

Tapping his forefinger against the top of his mouse, Ian nodded. "I saw that."

Redirecting Ian's attention to another spot on the screen, Mouth added, "You also have to change this or it won't be resolved on the mobile app."

Ian motioned towards the original issue Mouth pointed out. "So this only fixes it on the web?"

"Affirmative. You have to adjust both or it doesn't fix the bug entirely across all devices."

Ian nodded, then looked over his shoulder at Sloth sitting at his computer. "Are you really deleting that call?" Ian asked.

"Do you know why I'm deleting it?" Sloth questioned.

"What Mouth said--we looked ridiculously unprofessional."

"Yes." Sloth chuckled to himself and shook his head. "Let's go with that."

Several minutes later, Ian stared at his monitor in darkness--the glow from the screen the only light in the room. Mouth and Sloth walked towards the exit with junk food in hand.

"Did you want us to wait for you, bro?" Sloth asked.

"Are you still working on that?" Mouth questioned. "I can come over and--."

"No," Ian interrupted, waving his coworkers on. "I've got it. I'll lock up when I leave."

"You sure?"

"Positive," Ian assured them. "I'll see you tomorrow."

When he heard the exit door click shut, Ian took off his glasses and dropped his head into his hands--elbows propped up on the desk. He rubbed his face with his palms, readjusted his glasses, then stared at the data on his screen. Maybe if I just fixed part of it, he pondered. If I fixed the web part, she'd have to call in again--to get the mobile part fixed. He paused for a beat. She'd call again.

His moment of happy thoughts quickly turned to guilt and questions about ethics. You wouldn't be helping her if you did that, you'd be manipulating her reality. That's not okay.

Disappointment quickly replaced Ian's feelings of guilt. You're being a hypocrite, Ian! You can't lecture Sloth about the responsibilities of being the man behind the technology--then sit here and manipulate someone's reality. Your job is to help, not play God. Just help her.

Ian's hands flew across his keyboard in a flurry of finger pressing. When the typing ceased, he held a fingertip over the power button on his monitor. "Fixed. Entirely." He pressed the button and the room went dark.