Shortsighted

Pearl lifts the Monster to her puckered, parted lips. Head thrown back, aluminum can grasped between two slender hands, she sucks down the thick liquid in gulps and slurps. The can clatters as it strikes the floor before rolling against a heap of empty Monsters. Pearl’s eyes lock onto the fragments of MATLAB code blanketing the computer screen before her.

"Yugh. How can you stomach those energy drinks?"

Pearl doesn't turn to greet Zoe. "Not energy drink," she mutters, testing the keyboard like a pianist before a performance. "Focus drink. Different."

"Oh?"

"Hard to explain. Need to try it yourself."

Zoe strides into the room and picks up a Monster. Pearl’s eyes are twitching in rapid saccades, shooting between scripts and pointers and undefined variables.

Zoe inspects the can. "How does it work?"

"’Cognitive myopia.’ Shortsightedness. Whatever you're doing when you drink, you get locked into. No distractions."

"Sounds dangerous," says Zoe, "and isn't this the same stuff that-"

"Sorry,” interrupts Pearl. “Can't talk. Leave. Please."

Zoe glares, hurt. She struts out with a “hmpf!"

Alone, Pearl's fingers thunder across the keys. She wills objects and classes into being; networks spread and sprawl before her eyes. Hierarchies of functions grow and evolve, one layer at a time.

Hours later, Pearl rises; the Monster is fading. In the kitchen, she pulls another from the fridge and pours the viscous, red liquid into a glass.

She’s suddenly aware of someone else in the kitchen. It's Eric, Zoe's boyfriend: a vascular surgeon with short-cropped black hair and a lean, muscular body.

"Hi," says Pearl, blushing. She takes a sip to mask her reddened cheeks.

"Finally noticed me," he laughs. "Zoe's sister, right?"

Pearl grasps him by the arm. "We should get to know each other,” she declares. “Let's go for a walk.”