Am I a human? This was the first time anyone had asked me that. It felt strange, but also made feel somewhat special—like a heroine in a fantasy movie.

“Yes, I'm very human,” I replied.

“You don't sound any different,” Poppy said, her reply coming a few seconds later. The call lag was quite significant, which was unusual given the internet speed I was provided. “Is it true that not all humans can hear us?”

She sounded, if her voice was any indication, around my age or even younger. With unicorns I could never be sure. One of my part time instructors in Virgin school was well in her thirties, yet sounded like a tween.

“Yes, only virgins can hear unicorns. I've been told that the rest hear neighing sounds.”

“Oh,” she said. Even with the lag I could hear her voice trembling. “Sorry, this is my first time. Guess I'm not too much fun, huh?”

Definitely a teenager. I’d been surrounded by that particular blend of self-doubt and uncertainty my entire high school life. Using an excuse to lower expectations and at the same time fish for compliments was the oldest trick in the book. I myself had used it hundreds of times. That is before I entered Virgin school. One of the first things they had drilled into our heads was to never act that way when talking to clients. Funny how the situation was reversed now.

“You're fine.” I tried to be casual, but within limits. She was my client after all, in every legally binding sense of the word. “Am I everything you expected?”

“Umm, well.” There was a pause. I looked at the phone just to make sure the connection hadn't dropped. “Kinda? I guess? It's just that I've only seen pictures of humans, so I wasn't sure what to expect. You just sound so… normal?”

Normal. That was the word I used to describe myself in every profile of my social network. It was a safe word—right between being a low self-esteem loser and an arrogant bitch. Having a unicorn describe me in such a way, though, that was completely different. For a moment I felt like in middle school again when I was not cool enough to sit at the popular table. However, as I was thinking back to the awkward moments of my life something dawned upon me: I was the very first human the unicorn on the other side of the line had ever heard.

“Not disappointing, I hope?” I laughed. Two could play the low self-esteem game.

“Oh, no, definitely not.” She took the bait. “I was just…” she stopped again.

My training kicked in. The proper approach was to calmly, but confidently, guide her in the direction I wanted, thus putting her at ease and fulfilling my obligations as an interpreter. The approach was mostly designed for tourists and unicorn children accompanying their parents to Earth. According to the timer, I had fifteen minutes left until the end of my contractual obligation. I had every incentive to stall—minimum effort for maximum effect, as one of the catchphrases went—yet I didn't feel like it.

“Poppy, you don't need to talk if you don't feel like it.” My instructors would have a heart attack if they could hear. “You haven't reached the five minute mark, so you'll get your money back.”

“Won't that get you in trouble?”

“Don't worry, I’m allowed a few flukes before they let me go,” I lied. In truth, I hadn't bothered reading through the contract in too much detail. I assumed the service operated similar to Uber, so I was relatively convinced I’d be safe. “Besides, this isn't my main job. So do what you feel is best, okay?”

“I'll just wait till the counter reaches ten,” she offered. Oops. Did I actually guilt trip her into paying me for doing nothing? “We can listen to each other’s silence.”

“I can talk about myself, if you want?” I lied down on the couch. “I’m fresh out of school, just moved to the big city, got myself a very prestigious job at a very prestigious firm and nearly messed it up on my first day. My boss is quite nice, but I don't think she's the unicorn who would let this pass more than once.”

“Ouch. That sounds rough.”

“I did mention it’s a lucrative job,” I chuckled.

“So you moved to the city all alone? Any significant other?”

“Poppy, I'm a virgin. That doesn't go too well with relationships.”

“D’oh. I'm stupid,” she laughed, not the polite measured laugh I had heard unicorns do, but a real unadulterated laugh. “I knew it and I still asked it.”

“I thought it was funny,” I admitted.

“You're just being nice, but thanks.” Her laughter gradually subsided. “I've still no idea what to do with my life. My sister is pushing me to pick a good university, but I'm not sure. It seems so out there. How did you decide to become a virgin? Stars, that sounds so wrong when I say it out loud.”

Years ago people probably would have agreed. Even now becoming a virgin sounded strange in some parts of the world. I had never given the matter any thought. It had seemed as a golden opportunity and I had taken it, as had many at my school.

“It was my chance to leave home.” There was no point in lying about it. Despite what my parents thought, I didn't see myself having a future there. “So far things have worked out.”

“That's nice.” She sighed. “I’m still making up my mind. Maybe I’ll…oh, time’s up. Thanks for the talk, I guess.”

“You can stay, if you want to.” I was starting to get sleepy. My mind wandered off thinking of cheesy Safety Dance lyrics. “I won't mind.”

“No, I’m good. I was about to go on a stroll anyway. Thanks for talking to me, Poppy.”

“No worries. I hope I got you to feel better.” I used one of the standard phrases. Always end a conversation focusing on the client. Tickle their ego and display the positives. Everyone I know had used this so often that it had become as natural as saying goodbye. Mentally, I had already ended the conversation, waiting for the click so I could try to get some more sleep. Instead, the timer kept on running.

“You have,” Poppy said, to my great surprise. A second later the call was over. I raised the phone in front of my face, but Poppy had left, instead I got my payment notification, along with a five star review and the comment “Caring”.

Thirty seven dollars after deductions. Not at all bad for ten minutes of work. I didn't see myself doing this sort of thing for a living, though. The conversation was a nice distraction, nothing more. I still had videos to watch, documents to read. Right now, however, I had to get some rest. This time I chose to use the bed. The phone went on the table, next to my half full cup of coffee. I’ll clean up first thing tomorrow, I told myself as I yawned my way into the bedroom.

The night was short and weird, full with strange vivid dreams. As always I'd dream about cars and unicorns, a combination I had difficulty explaining. Acording to the support forums, this was a common side effect of the virgin pills. Hundreds of people had them, nearly all of them between the ages of eighteen and twenty five. According to the popular conspiracy theory, the meds were created with unicorn magic, making anyone who took them docile and subservient. A stupid theory, considering that I kept having dreams even after avoiding my meds for weeks.

This time there was a new element in my dreams: a blue scarf floating around me no matter what I did. I could feel something familiar about it, almost as if I'd seen it before. Each time I'd try to catch it, the scarf would flow through my fingers as if it were made of water, then float away only to return shortly after. The cycle would continue on and on and on, until at one point it failed to escape. A deep feeling of dread swept through me, causing everything around to lose color.

“We don't talk about her,” the scarf whispered. “She got sabotaged.”

“We don't talk about her,” more whispers joined in, as I stood powerless in a grey nothingness.

The usual elements of my dream started to vanish one by one, erased before my very eyes. I tried to talk, to scream, but my lips didn't move. Instead, I could only reach forward trying to grab the other end of the scarf.

“Sabotaged. We don't talk about her,” the whispers grew louder. “Sabotaged.”

There was nothing but blackness now, surrounding me on all sides. Only I and the blue streak of the scarf were left.

“Sabotaged. We don't talk about you anymore,” a voice screeched right next to me.

My eyes popped wide open. I was in my room lying on the bed, my sheets kicked to the ground. For several seconds, I just remained there, waiting for my mind to clear up.

Getting up never is easy, I yawned and sat up. From today no more midnight coffee, and definitely no unicorn phone calls. Also, maybe it was time for me to get back on the meds.