How to use downy ball9/9/2023 ![]() Thinking about the residency I’d wanted so badly for so long, I coughed: “Art-ist.” I fumbled, trying to come up with a title that matched Q’s twee vocabulary - Cueist, Evangelist. Sandy Jensen crossed her arms, shifted her hips, nodded. At least my name was common enough to spawn a few dozen doubles. ![]() ![]() Black.” It hadn’t even occurred to me to lie. It wasn’t her fault I wasn’t supposed to be here. Were her cheeks flushing against the pale, downy hair? Or was it the reflection of light off a nearby tangerine pod? I felt guilty. Staring at a stranger in the halls of Q and not looking at their badge must have felt to Sandy Jensen like having her cell phone buzz in her pocket and not checking for messages, a practically epic test of will. I could feel the force of her curiosity between us like a magnetic field, waiting for me to respond. Her hands were large and thin-fingered and bare, her hip bones thin and sharp. Sandy Jensen, whose hair was, aptly, a sandy shade of blond - thick, a little messy, longer than her shoulders - and whose voice, too, rasped with the mild roughness of waves against sand, propped her hands back against her hips. When a stranger asks Amy to transcribe a love letter for him, his disappearance leads her straight to Q - with the chance to style herself a 21st-century Jewish ritual scribe - and to a group of data privacy vigilantes who want her to burn Q to the ground. In Bay Area author Hilary Zaid’s forthcoming novel “Forget I Told You This,” a queer, single mother and aspiring artist named Amy Black dreams of a coveted artist’s residency at Q, the world’s largest social media company. ![]()
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