“I matter,” says Suzi proudly.

Geri smiles sympathetically, her red lips pressed tight, holding the truth, not knowing how to break the news. Just do it, her mind urges.

Geri’s lips part. “Oh, Suzi, I’m sorry to tell you—you’re wrong. You don’t matter.”

Suzi blinks.

“I believe you used to,” Geri continues, earnestly. “I truly do. But there’s a New World Order now, and I have a list of who matters and who doesn’t. I don’t see your name on it.”

She holds up a clipboard, tapping the paper with her manicured nail.

“It’s true,” she says. “The only people who matter now don’t have nicknames as legal names. We only recognize proper names—Suzanne, Jennifer, Michael, Anthony. You get it, right? People who don’t matter are the ones whose birth certificates list their names as Suzi, Jenny, Mike, and Tony. People went too far with their liberties.”

She shrugs. “Don’t worry—you can still exist here. You can still live freely. It’s just that… you won’t matter.”

Suzi stares at her, then sinks into the cold metal folding chair at the unemployment office on Main Street.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” she says. “Why would that matter?”

“I’m afraid everything matters now,” Geri replies. “Except for you, of course.”

Suzi folds her arms. “That sounds so arbitrary. I mean, we didn’t have a choice in how our parents named us.”

“I realize this may come as a surprise,” Geri says smoothly. “Obviously, your parents were free thinkers and, well… people can’t think for themselves anymore.”

She smiles with her lips but squeezes her eyes shut.

Suzi glances down, then back at her. “If we can’t think for ourselves… do any of us matter?”

Geri hesitates. “Perhaps you’re right. I haven’t read through the entire manual yet.”

Suzi leans forward. “But isn’t Geri short for Geraldine?”

Before Geri can answer, a man appears in the doorway. He wears a gray three-button suit and brown loafers, as if he stepped straight out of 1982. His graying hair is combed neatly over his balding head.

“Hello, ladies,” he says.

Suzi eyes him warily, distrusting this blast from the past.

Geri straightens. “Hello, sir.”

“I’ll need the two of you to come with me,” he says, tucking his clipboard under his arm.

Geri smiles, lifting her manual. “There’s been some mistake. I have a copy of the rules. That means I still matter.”

The man shakes his head. “We’ve made some adjustments. You’ll need to come with us too.”

His voice is calm but firm.

A pause.

Then—”Hurry up, ladies. The bus is waiting.”