The place reminded Sam a lot of that rave Hummingbird had dragged them to once upon a time, albeit with less mindblasting of the bouncers to get him inside. It was actually pretty cool, seeing people just wave them forward in line when they caught a glimpse of the flight ring.

People thought they were cool.

People actually thinking he wasn't a loser was kind of a novelty. He could get used to this.

The dancing and the arcade would keep for later, though, because Sam had exactly the kind of appetite to be expected from a fifteen-year-old boy, and as such, he had priorities. Priorities like piling into a couch and scoping out the snack menu. There had to be some kind of far future equivalent of hot wings or something, right? (But who knew what kind of weird synthetic plant crap it was made out of.)

The drink menu was impressive, but minimalist. A few notes about flavors, but not a full ingredient list on each drink; a few symbols sprinkled across the menu to denote something or other, he wasn't sure what. (Calories or something stupid like that? Who cared, he wasn't trying to watch his figure.) He was considering just closing his eyes and ordering the first thing his finger landed on, until one drink on the list jumped out at him.

"Okay, if they really have a drink called the Supernova, that's gotta be fate or something."