Infinite Cashback System

Chapter 364: 364 | Don’t You Wish You Were Here

Kumiko produced her phone before Jordan could finish the thought that he should document this moment for future blackmail purposes. She held it at arm’s length, angled upward to catch all three of them plus a slice of the Millennium Falcon behind them, and her thumb found the shutter button with the precision of someone who’d taken eleven thousand selfies over the past four years.

"Closer," Kumiko demanded, and her free hand grabbed the back of Jordan’s neck to pull his head down to her level while simultaneously hooking her elbow around Chloe’s waist and dragging her into frame.

Jordan bent at the knees rather than ruin his spinal column trying to accommodate a five-four girl with zero sense of physical scale. Chloe leaned into the shot with the practiced ease of someone who understood camera angles on a molecular level, her chin tilting two degrees left and her blue streak catching the morning sun like she’d planned the lighting during the car ride.

"Say blue milk!"

"Absolutely not."

"Say it or I’ll take forty more until you cooperate."

"Blue milk," Jordan and Chloe said in flat unison, and Kumiko’s shutter clicked six times in rapid succession because Kumiko did not believe in single photographs when burst mode existed.

She pulled the phone back and scrolled through the results with the scrutiny of a museum curator evaluating acquisitions.

Her face cycled through rejection, mild acceptance, rejection, disgust at her own blink timing, and then stopped on number four with an expression of pure reverence.

Jordan looked over her shoulder.

The photo was good. Annoyingly good in the way that meant Jordan would probably look at it again before bed and question what choices had led him to this specific morning.

Chloe stood on his left with the black velvet ears and veil, her face angled into the light with the casual confidence of a woman who’d spent six months learning every camera trick in existence through professional necessity. Her blue streak framed her jaw in a way that looked accidental but absolutely wasn’t.

Her lips held the exact half-smile she deployed when she was genuinely pleased but refused to appear too invested, the one Jordan had started cataloging in his mental Chloe dictionary around week three.

The white cropped sweater showed the line of her collarbone and the fading edge of a hickey Jordan had left three days ago during a study session that had devolved with predictable speed, visible only if you knew where to look. Jordan knew where to look.

Kumiko occupied his right side, her pink sequined Minnie ears catching the sun like a disco ball had been surgically grafted to a very small anime character and then set on fire for good measure.

Her smile consumed her entire face, eyes crinkled shut behind the phone, both hands making peace signs that she’d clearly rehearsed because no human being naturally positioned their fingers that symmetrically under pressure.

The pink sundress and the twin tails and the ribbons and the cat backpack strap across her shoulder created a cumulative visual effect that sat somewhere between adorable and legally dangerous, the kind of aesthetic that made grown men check her age twice before complimenting her outfit.

She looked like she’d raided a Sanrio store during an earthquake and emerged victorious.

Jordan stood between them wearing black Mickey ears, a gray henley, and an expression that he would have called neutral but that the camera had captured as something closer to content.

His jawline looked sharper than he remembered. His arms filled the sleeves in a way that would have been impossible six weeks ago. The dirty blonde hair and the dark sides framed his face in the intentionally messy style Chloe had mandated, and the ears on top should have looked stupid but instead looked like the kind of confident-ironic choice a man makes when he has nothing to prove.

He looked like someone with two girlfriends at Disneyland.

He looked happy.

"Send that to me," Jordan said.

Kumiko airdropped the photo to both of them within three seconds. Jordan opened it on his own screen and examined it one more time, confirming what the thumbnail had suggested. Three people in mouse ears against a Star Wars backdrop, none of them related, all of them together, the morning crowd blurring behind them into warm golden streaks.

Jordan opened his messages and scrolled to Alexis Van Der Berg’s contact. His thumb hovered for exactly one second before he attached the photo and typed a single line.

Don’t you wish you were here

He hit send.

Then he opened his notification settings for Alexis’s thread, toggled them to silent, locked his phone, and slid it into his back pocket with the screen facing his body.

Chloe’s eyes tracked the motion from his peripheral. She said nothing. Her mouth did the two-millimeter twitch.

Kumiko was already dragging them toward the Rise of the Resistance entrance because boarding group seventeen had been called at eight-nineteen and they had approximately forty minutes before their window expired, and Kumiko Yamanaka had not spent fifteen hours building a seven-version tactical spreadsheet to miss a boarding window because her boyfriend was texting other women.

Rise of the Resistance lasted eighteen minutes from queue entry to ride exit and was, Jordan had to admit, the single most impressive piece of entertainment engineering he had ever experienced.

The pre-show rooms were actual rooms with actual projected holograms. The ride vehicle moved on a trackless system that pivoted and spun through environments large enough to hold basketball courts. A

t one point the ceiling opened and a full-scale AT-AT fired simulated blaster bolts six inches from Jordan’s face while the vehicle lurched sideways and dropped two stories.

Kumiko screamed the entire time.

Not roller coaster screaming. Not fear screaming. Something Jordan had no framework for, a sustained note of pure overwhelmed joy that started when the First Order stormtroopers appeared in formation and did not stop until the ride vehicle docked and a Cast Member gently suggested she exit to her left.

Kumiko’s face when they emerged into the gift shop was so wet with tears that a woman in a Resistance bomber jacket asked if she needed medical assistance.

"She’s fine," Jordan said. "She cries at everything."

"I am FINE," Kumiko confirmed through a sob. "I am EXPERIENCING."

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