Don't Read the Comments

by Eric Smith

  I choke back what feels like a sob, and barely eke out my suggestion. “Let’s...go exploring.”

  We round the side of the massive lake, and the conversation starts to die out. For a while, we walk in silence, and Aaron switches off his music in favor of something a little softer, with pianos and a sad, gentle voice that feels as though it fits the natural surroundings. The Fray, maybe.

  I glance over at Aaron, who turns his head to look at me. The late-afternoon digital sun is low in the sky, just enough to silhouette his profile against the water, and if this was a real walk outside, I’d probably stop and try to take his photo. Golden hour for Instagram and all that.

  “You alright?” he asks, slowing to a stop.

  I wish this walk was alongside some actual water. Maybe here, in Jersey City, wandering downtown. We could rummage for records, like he said, or drink coffee in Word, my favorite bookstore. I could catch him during golden hour, framed perfectly for a photo in the setting of the sun, in a dog park surrounded by corgis and Yorkies and Boston terriers, the signature small pups of the town.

  But I can’t.

  At least, not yet.

  “Yeah,” I say, lying. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  16

  AARON

  “Look, I’m happy for you,” Ryan says, an annoying grin on his face. “But perhaps we should take a moment to define just what a ‘date’ actually is. Have you ever googled the term?”

  I let out a frustrated groan. He’s been busting my chops for the past ten minutes, and I’m not sure how much more I can take. It’s a summer Saturday in Philadelphia, which means the flea markets are open across Center City. And as great as rummaging for discarded computers in the nearby university dumpsters at the end of the semester is, the flea markets are an untapped gold mine of parts and accessories.

  Most people come here to scrounge for vintage antiques and jewelry and rare coins...stuff like that. At least, that’s what it seems like.

  Me? Give me all your old electronics, thank you very much.

  The gaming mouse I use? It’s worth a hundred dollars brand-new, and I totally found it at one of these for five bucks. It’s a bit older, sure, but works just fine. I’ve retired it for now, though, in favor of the VR headset D1V gave me. It’s been amazing the past few days, exploring with that thing.

  “Tell me Alberto is almost here,” I plead. “Please.” I peek under the folding table that Ryan is currently digging around on top of, but there are just closed plastic bins under there. This is not the right stop for me.

  “You say that like he’s going to go easier on you or something.” Ryan laughs and examines a small brass piece of something, before dropping it back in a thin cardboard container about the size of a shoebox lid. The stand we’ve stopped at is filled with baubles and trinkets, like a steampunk fan’s ultimate fantasy. Glue a couple of these onto a hat, and you are golden for Comic-Con.

  I look beyond the table, toward the end of the block, where the flea market stretches all the way down. The markets in Center City aren’t set up in a parking lot or something, but instead span full city blocks, lining sidewalks. This one takes over South Street and Lombard, all the way along Ninth and Seventh. The crowd is an interesting bunch of people—a mix of tourists who look baffled, as we’re really close to South Street, and others who, like me and Ryan, are clearly scouring for treasures.

  I squint and make out a table about half a block down that appears to be loaded with gadgets. “Any idea where he’s meeting us?” I ask. I hate meeting up at things like flea markets or festivals or anything where a bunch of people are milling about. It’s impossible to find one another, and you end up spending half the time trying to keep an eye on whoever you’re supposed to be there with.

  “Not sure,” Ryan says. He weaves in and out of the crowd with me as we make our way to the gadget-filled table. There are a bundle of battered computer parts strewn about, some old digital cameras, and a handful of ancient handheld video games. I pick up an old Tiger game, one of those LCD toys from the late ’80s, with the colorful still-screen backdrops that tried to make up for the lackluster black-and-white graphics, and pop open the back. A pair of AA batteries have burst, and the acid is all over, crystallized and definitely dangerous.

  I look up at the vendor, holding the device in my hands, and he shrugs.

  “A quarter,” he offers. I put it down and glance up just in time to see Alberto nudge past someone, working his way over to me and Ryan.

  “There he is.” Ryan smiles, and Alberto gives him a quick kiss.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he says, reaching over to me for a one-armed hug. “The El took forever.” Alberto and his family live over in Northern Liberties, a hip section of Philadelphia, in a house that looks as if it’s been carved out of marble. It’s really like something out of a movie.

  “You didn’t miss much,” Ryan tells him. “Except the recap of this one’s date.”

  “Oh?” Alberto asks, turning to me. He crosses his arms and grins. “The video game girl?”

  “I hate you so much,” I growl at Ryan, who raises his hands innocently. “It wasn’t a date—I regret saying that—just a good gaming session. She sent me an Oculus VR headset, so we could—”

  Alberto yawns loudly.

  “Oh my God, seriously?” I laugh, shoving him.

  As we continue along the stretch of tables, Ryan stops to scope out some bits of art and Alberto fusses over some vintage jeans. Another display nearby catches my attention. Looks like some tech pieces on top, but also maybe some movies.

  I think about the headset, and those movies give me an idea.

  “Be right back, you guys,” I call, but they both just wave me off.

  I make my way around some people to the table, where a bundle of broken-looking electronics line the top, as well as some still-sealed PlayStation 2 and Xbox 360 games. Nothing all that impressive. The blue cases next to them—the thin plastic cases that hint at Blu-rays—catch my eye, though. I pluck out a few, all marked at just two dollars, and open the cases.

  And I find exactly what I’m looking for.

  I totally understand why D1V isn’t ready to meet up in person. I’m still angry at myself for even suggesting it, getting all amped up while talking about music and using the headset and...just getting caught in the swirl of the emotions. And Ryan might laugh at my sad, loose definition of date, but this...this is better than nothing.

  I pull out my phone and open the chat.

  RECLAIM THE SUN: CHAT APPLICATION

  AARON: Hey, busy later?

  D1V: Oh, hello you.

  D1V: No, why? Up to try that headset out a bit more?

  AARON: Kinda, yeah. I have an idea.

  AARON: I’ll message you when I get home.

  AARON: This afternoon, maybe?

  D1V: Sure?

  AARON: It’s a date.

  D1V: Date.

  D1V: I’m making a face at you right now.

  AARON: I’m sure you are.

  Someone slams into me, muttering a quick apology as they continue through the crowd, and it pulls me away from my phone. Ryan and Alberto are walking over, a pair of jeans slung over Alberto’s shoulder. As they approach, Ryan looks down at the movies in my hand and scowls.

  “Those are terrible movies,” he says with a disdainful sniff, as though I’m holding out trash.

  “They are not!” I exclaim, wrestling my wallet out of my pocket.

  Alberto plucks one out of my hands and examines it.

  “You can’t be serious,” he says, looking up at me, a smirk on his face.

  “I like that movie!” I snatch it back and turn to the man behind the table, a thick beard and long locks of curly hair framing his face.

  “One...two...” he mumbles, counting the movies. “Alright, six movies, that’ll be twelve dollars... Let
’s just call it ten, sound good?”

  I hand him two crinkled five-dollar bills from my wallet and turn back to Alberto and Ryan, who are both staring at me, arms crossed, shaking their heads.

  “Look, you don’t get it. I’m going to—”

  “Oh, I figured it out,” Ryan says dryly.

  “You could have at least picked something better,” Alberto adds, smirking.

  “You guys are the worst,” I complain. “I’m skipping pizza and heading home.”

  I move to brush by them, but Alberto holds out a hand, blocking my way. He flashes me a grin. He knows I’m not going to bail on our usual trip to Lorenzo’s, not when we’re this close to the place, with its monstrous two-dollar slices that are bigger than my head.

  “Goddamn it. Fine, let’s go,” I grumble. “But then I’m heading home.”

  I have a date to prep for.

  * * *

  I’m sweating like someone playing a round of competitive StarCraft II as I get myself situated in my room. Running around in the summer heat on the streets of Center City, Philadelphia, the pavement unforgiving, sending waves of warmth against you...it doesn’t make for an attractive look at the end of it all. I pull my T-shirt off and use the still-damp fabric to wipe at my forehead, then give up, hustling into the bathroom to wash my face.

  I look in the mirror, my brown skin flushed, bits of red in my eyes from the stinging of sweat and salt...

  And I laugh.

  It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. I’ll have a headset on—we can’t see each other. Yet there’s still this...this something, that makes me want to look nice. Bits of stubble are starting to pop up along my jaw again, even though I just shaved a few days ago, and I tilt my head, still fussing with myself in the mirror.

  I towel my face off and take a few deep breaths. “Here we go,” I announce to the mirror.

  I hurry back to my room, but not before stopping in the hallway to listen for noise downstairs. All is silent—Mom is probably in the practice, and Dad...he’s probably on the computer, doing...

  Whatever the hell he’s doing.

  I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. I’ve got some popcorn on my bed, a can of soda on the nightstand, a bag of Sour Patch Kids next to that. And, most important, I’ve got movies.

  It’s now or never.

  RECLAIM THE SUN: CHAT APPLICATION

  AARON: Hi!

  D1V: Well.

  D1V: If it isn’t Mr. Date.

  AARON: You know, I really wish you could have gone flea marketing with me and the guys.

  AARON: They love busting my chops too.

  D1V: Heh. Maybe someday.

  D1V: Not yet though.

  AARON: I know.

  AARON: So, look, I um...have this idea.

  AARON: XPOE-8231-FK93-AALW-MP3Q

  DIV: What’s that?

  AARON: A download code.

  D1V: For...what?

  AARON: Claim it in MoviesEverywhere, and then load up the Ocutime app.

  D1V: Oookay.

  D1V: What.

  D1V: Hahah, Aaron what is this?

  AARON: So we can watch movies together! In the headset! In VR!

  AARON: Like, that’s the date.

  AARON: Was this uh, not a good idea?

  AARON: I made popcorn and everything.

  D1V: No, no. This is...this is cute.

  D1V: It’s just, this movie...

  AARON: It’s old, I know.

  D1V: I’ll humor you, but then after this, we’re watching one of my movies.

  D1V:Say Anything, Aaron? You’re such a cliché.

  D1V: I like you though.

  AARON:

  In the VR headset, the movie looks huge and massive, as though it’s on a gigantic movie screen right in front of me. Like I’m sitting in the front row of the theater, or at least super close to it.

  “Hey,” D1V says, her voice in my ear.

  I turn to the side, but she isn’t there, of course. Just rows of faux seats.

  The smell of the buttered popcorn I made in the downstairs microwave keeps me planted in the virtual reality I’ve chosen, this digital place. “What do you think?” I ask.

  “It’s cute,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “The movie and...this.”

  My hand twitches, and the fact that she isn’t here, in a seat next to me, weighs on me a little. The warmth in her voice, the fact that she’s here, but not. The urge to reach out and hold her hand in this movie theater feels so real, so present, and I have to push myself to keep staring straight ahead. At the screen. At John Cusack as he bumbles around, a romantic mess.

  I look over at the empty seats in the VR and reach my hand out anyway.

  And I wonder.

  If she’s doing the same.

  Reclaim the Sun: Chat Application

  D1V: Hey you!

  D1V: What’s going on, it’s been a minute.

  D1V: Beks? I see you online. Come on.

  BEKS: Hey, sorry.

  BEKS: Didn’t realize I was signed on.

  D1V: What? What is happening?

  BEKS: Div, I don’t think we should do GamesCon.

  D1V: Why?

  D1V: Okay, I mean I know why, but aren’t we fighting back?

  BEKS: We should cancel.

  BEKS: You should email them and cancel.

  D1V: Beks, what’s going on?

  BEKS: I gotta go.

  17

  DIVYA

  Damn it.

  All...this. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Getting close to somebody out there. But here we are. It’s only been a little over a week, and I can’t bring myself to tell my mom that the smile on my face lately is coming from the place that’s brought our little family so much pain.

  I glance at the time—it’s getting late, and about time for a streaming session. I message Aaron to see if he’s around and check my email. I’ve successfully managed to avoid it all day, but if I want to keep the sponsors happy and the gadgets rolling in, I have to stay in the loop.

  Det. Nikki Watts

  Chatter, open ASAP

  4:44 p.m.

  Polygon Digest

  GamesCon Preview: What to Expect

  3:15 p.m.

  Twitter Notifications

  Direct Msg from Maggs

  3:01 p.m.

  H. Siddiqui

  RE: RE: Sponsoring a new VR set?

  2:37 p.m.

  Desi Geek Girls

  Scheduling a podcast interview?

  1:42 p.m.

  While my heart soars at the prospect of being on Desi Geek Girls, my favorite podcast, I squint at the most recent email. It’s from the detective. Do...do detectives and police officers send emails?

  I leave a star on the podcast email and the message from Hannah at Oculus, then open Detective Watts’s message.

  Chatter, open ASAP [INBOX]

  Detective Nikki Watts
  to me

  Good afternoon Divya.

  With GamesCon approaching there’s been an uptick in discussions on social media and various Internet forums.

  I would seriously reconsider appearing there and update all your passwords across your various digital platforms.

  Please be careful, and don’t hesitate to reach out.

  Sincerely,

  Detective Nikki Watts

  Emotions are running
through me like Cortana in Halo.

  They’re rampant.

  It’s a mix of being terrified and furious at all of this. Afraid for what will happen to me and to my mom if I don’t do something, but pissed off at the idea that these trolls are winning just by making me feel that way. By making me feel anything.

  And the idea of canceling... I can’t. Not after all this. I deserve to be there.

  I close out of my email and debate texting Rebekah again, to see if she wants to gear up for the stream and get our accounts locked down. Update passwords and all that. She responds back with a quick “class” response, but even with that one word, her tone is still so distant and cold. I can’t figure out what’s going on with her.

  I send Aaron a quick message in the Reclaim the Sun messenger app to see if he’s around, and instead of responding, his gamertag blips up on my screen, and he messages me a wink. I smile and turn on the voice client with a click of my mouse, opening up a channel to Aaron.

  “Hey,” I say, feeling this warmth in my chest.

  “Hey yourself,” he responds, and there’s a beat of silence. “You sound different. Are you not in VR?”

  “Not tonight,” I say. “I want to get a stream in and record.” I reach up and adjust my webcam. “You’re welcome to join in the fun, of course.”

  “Sure, why not? Is Rebekah around?”

  “At class.” It feels like ever since the incident with my mom, she’s practically disappeared, and then the distance here, too... It hurts. I mean, I get it—a lot of people on her campus know who she is and recognize her. Combine that with everything that went down at Quarter Slice Crisis, plus her past experiences... I understand. I’d be a monster not to.

  But it still hurts.

  She’s even pushing for us to cancel our GamesCon appearance, our first convention ever, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to let that happen. I know I wasn’t terribly hyped about it initially, even in talking with Rebekah, but now? Not even Detective Watts’s warnings are gonna keep me from it—trolls or not, I earned this. My audience. The opportunity to speak out about harassment. To fight back. And even the chance to sell a little bit of merch. The enamel pins and stitched patches that Rebekah had designed are on their way, and they’re way too cute not to put into the hands of our fans. I’ll go by myself if I have to, to keep Rebekah feeling safe.