Chapter 19: Flirtation Harvest

Ingrid froze right there, her eyes locked on Maya's. She waited without blinking, because breaking that stare would mean failing the whole protocol before it even ramped up. Maya fidgeted with her phone case, the one covered in glittery star stickers that caught the arcade lights overhead. The Teen Play Zone buzzed around them, full of claw machines and those endless rhythm games where kids mashed buttons to pop virtual bubbles. Ingrid's neon pink activewear squeezed her chest with every breath, a constant reminder that Ms. Vane watched from somewhere through one of those black domes up in the corners.

Maya leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that barely cut through the electronic beeps. "I'm Maya," she said, then shoved her phone forward with the contact screen already open. Her cheeks went pink, like she realized too late how forward that looked in a place packed with other teens snapping selfies.

Ingrid took the phone without hesitating, her fingers brushing Maya's just enough to make the girl pull back quick. She typed in her fake number, the one Ms. Vane had drilled into her head for these exchanges, while Maya's earlier hesitation replayed in her mind. Ms. Vane had called that kind of fluster a "submission tell" during the briefing, the exact weakness Ingrid needed to exploit if she wanted to hit her quota of five contacts. Anything less, and the psychological scrutiny would dig deeper into whatever passed for Ingrid's inner thoughts these days.

Ms. Vane's voice crackled through the earpiece hidden under Ingrid's hair. "Maya performs now. Make her demonstrate why her type fits the demographic."

Ingrid nodded slightly, the motion hidden as she handed the phone back. "Show me that dance you were doing earlier," she said to Maya, pitching her tone low and interested, like she actually cared about the half-hearted twerk the girl had tried near the photo booth. Maya glanced around, then started swaying her hips to the faint pop beat from a nearby speaker, her crop top riding up to show a strip of tanned midriff. Ingrid noted it all mentally: slim build, B-cup at most, loose ponytail that screamed casual teen availability. The girl kept glancing at Ingrid for approval, which meant the predatory vibe was landing.

"Good," Ms. Vane murmured in her ear. "Next target inbound. Keep the gaze."

Ingrid straightened up, forcing her expression into that hungry look Ms. Vane had practiced with her in the cubicle. The neon fabric pulled tighter across her bust as she shifted weight, the reflective black panels flashing under the zone's strobing lights. Another girl wandered close, drawn by Maya's little show, her friends trailing behind. Ingrid zeroed in on the leader, the one with blue-streaked hair and a choker that looked hand-beaded. "You three look like you own this place," Ingrid said, smiling in a way that felt more like baring teeth. "What's your handle?"

The blue-haired one, who went by @PixelPout, rattled off her info first, then nudged her friends to follow. Ingrid collected them one by one, snapping quick pics of their outfits on her company-issued phone: high-waisted shorts on @PixelPout that hugged narrow hips, a mesh top on @GlitterGrip showing off flat stomachs, fishnets on the third one whose name blurred into @SparkleSiren. She logged body types too, all lean and underendowed compared to the office standard, which made her own constricted chest ache in contrast. Each girl flushed under her stare, handing over snaps eagerly, like Ingrid represented some upgrade they craved.

Maya hovered at the edge, still swaying a bit, until Ingrid pocketed the phone. Five contacts secured, right on quota. She pivoted away smooth, scanning the zone for Ms. Vane's next directive, because silence in the earpiece never lasted long in these drills.

@TealDreamz grabbed her wrist then, the fourth girl from the group, her nails painted electric teal to match her handle. No warning, just a yank toward the far side of the play area where neon signs pointed to Sparkle Paradise, the boutique strung with fairy lights and racks of sparkly teen wear.

The three girls—@TealDreamz leading, @PixelPout and @GlitterGrip giggling behind—pushed through the beaded curtain into Sparkle Paradise. Ingrid followed, her ankle weights from earlier sessions long gone but the activewear's squeeze making every step deliberate. Racks crammed the narrow space, all tiny tanks and glitter skirts sized for bodies that didn't fight fabric like hers did. She spotted it immediately: a shelf of "Scout" uniforms, pink sash-style tops with badge patches that mirrored the infantilizing getup she'd worn back in the Sweet Retreat Zone. The resemblance hit her stomach, a minor twist of nausea because wearing something like that again would mean regressing two steps in whatever passed for progress here.

@TealDreamz released her wrist and dove into a rack of holographic crop tops, holding one up to her chest. "This would slay on you," she said, eyes flicking over Ingrid's figure without shame. Ingrid forced a squeal, mimicking the high-pitched enthusiasm the girls used, while her real focus stayed on details: how @PixelPout twisted to check her reflection, emphasizing a subtle curve at her waist; @GlitterGrip's habit of tugging her shorts lower, exposing hip bones that screamed under twenty. She snapped mental notes, because Ms. Vane would quiz her later on behavioral tics that screamed "target demographic."

They bounced from rack to rack, @TealDreamz piling neon accessories into Ingrid's arms like she owned the place. Ingrid played along, cooing over sequined headbands and holding skirts against her thighs to gauge the girls' reactions. @PixelPout wrinkled her nose at a too-shiny belt, which Ingrid filed as aversion to excess sparkle. Minor snag came when @GlitterGrip tried shoving a feathered boa around Ingrid's neck, the feathers catching on the activewear's zipper and tugging it down an inch. Ingrid laughed it off, zipping back up quick, but inside she calculated the exposure risk—Ms. Vane hated unplanned reveals outside controlled settings.

@TealDreamz dropped the pile on a counter suddenly, then latched onto Ingrid's arm again. She pulled hard toward the exit, aiming straight for the food court visible through the mall's glass walls. "Starving," @TealDreamz declared, weaving them past clusters of kids glued to their screens. Ingrid stumbled a step, the activewear's compression making quick turns awkward, but she matched pace because dropping the mimicry now would tank the immersion.

Kiddie Bites squatted at the court's edge, a pastel nightmare of booster seats and menu boards shaped like smiling animals. Plastic dinosaurs grinned from the walls, nugget baskets steaming under heat lamps. @TealDreamz shoved Ingrid into a booth upholstered in sticky vinyl, the kind that grabbed at skin through thin fabric. She flagged the counter girl and ordered without asking: "Princess Platter for the hot one here, extra glitter sauce."

The platter arrived fast, a mountain of dino-shaped nuggets, star fries, and crowns made of spun sugar. Ingrid stared at a T-rex nugget, grease pooling on the pink plate. She picked it up, the breading flaking onto her fingers, and bit in slow. Ketchup burst out, sweet and artificial, coating her tongue. @TealDreamz watched expectant, so Ingrid chewed with exaggerated moans, nodding like this beat any adult meal. Truth was, the sugar hit her empty stomach wrong, a minor churn that made her shift in the booth, but she kept the enjoyment mask on tight.

@TealDreamz leaned across the table, popping a fry into her mouth while her eyes narrowed playful. She steered the talk sharp, away from clothes. "So, what kinda girls get you going?" Ingrid paused mid-bite, the question hanging while @TealDreamz added, "Like, the busty ones or the slim types? Be real, what's your physical type?"