I don’t care about the note of concern in his voice. I still roll my eyes at him.
I turn to Tommy and nod. “I cast it.”
These types of moments don’t happen often during gameplay. This is potentially life or death. Everyone watches, breath held, as I toss a twenty-sided die onto the coffee table. The die tumbles, clicking its way across the glossy wood, then stops. We all lean in, my helmet bumping against Dan’s head, to see the outcome.
It’s a ten. Bronla, the character I’ve been working on for months and months, is so dead.
Chapter Eight
Dan
Wow. Just wow. That was the most heartbreaking thing I believe I’ve ever seen. I felt so bad for Zelda earlier at the game that I didn’t even say, “I told you so.” When that ten fell, silence flattened the room. It took a good minute or two before Tommy spoke.
“Okay, so let’s do the math.” He tapped away at his calculator, all the while mumbling, “maybe, just maybe,” but in the end that ten, even with some generous multipliers from Gregor’s vamp, didn’t get the job done. The sphinx knocked Zelda beyond incapacitation and into death the next round. But Zelda’s move did distract it long enough for the fairy to ping off the sphinx’s last few health points.
I thought about trying to comfort Zelda, but for the first time in months I didn’t want to see her turn to me with vibrant fury in her eyes. I wanted her to be happy, to feel better, and I knew nothing I could say would accomplish that, no matter how sincere I sounded.
After experience points were solemnly dealt out, Julie grabbed an in-shock Zelda by the shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “I’ll never forget what you did. Bronla will live on in my character’s mind for eternity.”
“Thanks,” Zelda said in a timid voice.
I recognized that voice. I heard it when we watched The Lion King together in ninth grade during the scene when Simba’s dad dies. I heard it when Zelda called to tell me about her dad forgetting to send her a birthday card. I knew what that tone of voice meant, and the sound of it made my cold, black heart turn to a pile of mush.
The others left the room then, but Zelda didn’t seem to want to move. She just kind of stood there staring at that stupid ten, still hugging her character sheet to her chest.
I couldn’t say anything, and I wouldn’t leave her there, so instead I put my hand on her upper back as lightly as I could. I steered her down the stairs, through the house, and into the backyard. People stared and whispered as we passed because news travels during a LARP game just like it does in a small town: quick and super exaggerated.
I found Maddie and Logan sitting together on the porch swing. “Maddie?” I called.
She looked up, a frown immediately taking over her face. “Oh, Zelda, I’m so sorry. Come with me.” They disappeared back into the house and I dropped onto the seat with Logan.
“Dude…” he said.
I rubbed the back of my neck to hopefully relieve some tension. “I know.”
“That sucks.”
“I know.”
He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “I mean, people outside of this might think it’s silly to get all worked up over a fictional character, but when you create something, put time and effort into making it better, deal with it for months, then just like that”—he emphasized his words with a snap of his fingers—“it’s gone? That can really take a toll on a person.”
“So true.”
I didn’t see Zelda for the rest of the night, which is why I’m now staring at my phone debating on whether or not to give her a call to confer my condolences. There’s a quick one-knock on my door and Dad steps into my room. “How did everything go at the fund-raiser?”
I’ve been dreading this. I flipping hate lying to my parents. “Great. Nothing crazy to report.”
“Are you sure? Nothing at all?” What is he doing? He’s acting weird. He shuffles around my room a little, not making eye contact. My dad is a straight-forward, business-minded man. The kind of guy who believes in a firm handshake and Johnny Cash. So when he fiddles with the Lego Millennium Falcon that hangs from my ceiling, I know something is up. Or am I projecting my guilt onto the situation and over thinking?
I stick with my lie. “Nope. Nothing.”
He jerks his worn cap off his head and slaps it hard against his thigh. I’ve made an epic mistake. “Damn it, Daniel. You’re lying to me. I called your coach to make sure the team got the money they needed for the new equipment, and he told me you weren’t there.”
No point in denying it now. “Okay, I didn’t go. It’s not that big of a deal, though. Missing one fund-raiser isn’t so bad.”
His face goes red at that. “Not a big deal? You made a commitment. This isn’t a game, Daniel.”
And here’s the point where my smart-ass mouth speaks without my go-ahead. “Actually, it is. There’s this ball, and we throw it through a hoop, and there’s a scoreboard. That’s exactly what this is. A game.”
Anger flashes in his eyes, and he crushes his cap in his hand. “Where were you? You must’ve been somewhere more important, right? To miss something that pertains to your athletic career, to your potential college career? And don’t tell me you were rescuing some old lady’s cat from a tree or helping a blind man cross the street, because I’m tired of your smart mouth.”
I could make something up. I probably should. But I’m so tired. I’m tired of pretending that I’m the perfect son, that basketball and school are the only things of any importance to me. “I was at a LARP game, okay?”
Dad rolls his eyes. His voice has now officially hit the “seriously pissed off” stage. “How many times have I told you? That crap is pointless. It does nothing but distract you from the important stuff. It’s a waste of time. Do you want to finish high school as just another mediocre student? Or do you want to be one of the best? I stood by when you were younger and let you play dress up, but that time is over now. No more, Daniel. You have so much potential. I don’t want all our work to be for nothing. Do you realize how many people I’ve had to talk to in order to get the talent scout from LSU to even consider watching one of your games? You can’t do this kind of stuff.”
He might’ve hit the “seriously pissed off” stage, but I’ve just hit the “I don’t care” stage. “Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
He tilts his chin up and I can see the gears turning in his head. He’s wondering if I’m being sarcastic, or placating him. “Right, then. No more games. No more ditching the important stuff. If something like this happens again, I’ll have to take away some privileges. I’ll start with your car.”
I don’t say anything about that because I didn’t want that monstrosity in the first place. I would have been content with something a little less Kanye.
“The next thing to go will be your laptop and phone.”
This gets my undivided attention. I subtract the attitude from my voice. “Yes sir. No more distractions. I promise.”
He nods, satisfied that I’m definitely not being sarcastic this time. “Good. Now get some sleep.”
When he leaves, I punch one of my pillows a good ten times. Why couldn’t I have had one of those hippy dads? The kind who’s willing to talk things out instead of just dictating? There’s no way I can lose my internet connection right now. Putting on a face at school, pretending I like those people because confrontation is not my jam, is exhausting. Losing my connection would mean losing effyeahFinityGirl, which would be like losing the only person in the world who understands me.
Zelda
The loss of Bronla felt practically like a death in the family, and the way Dan was kind of nice to me is throwing my carefully crafted plan out of whack. I should be much further along with my social experiment. By this point, considering the amount of chats we’ve had, I should at least have some kind of proof that popularity, being liked by everyone for innocuous reasons, changes a person for the worse. But all I have written is a bunch of stuff about
how he used to be and all the things he’s done up to this point.
Maybe he’s just pretending to be the kind of guy FinityGirl would like. Maybe I should’ve been a guy when I started this whole thing, and then he would’ve been more genuine. Because there’s no way this is how he actually is, right?
When Dan’s an hour late to our agreed-upon chat time, I try to muster up some of the confidence I felt when I started chatting with him as FinityGirl, but that’s all shot to hell with his first comment.
Dantheman: Sorry I’m late. Just had a big fight with my dad. I hate fighting with him.
Oh no. If there’s one person in this world that means more to Dan than himself, it’s his dad. They’ve always had the kind of father/son relationship you only see on fifties sitcoms. Sure, they fight like any parent and child do, but nothing that’s ever really serious. At least, that’s the way it used to be. I remember being jealous of them, how Taxidermy Todd would slap Dan on the back with a big grin when he would correct his grammar. Mr. Garrett was always nice to me, too. He made sure Dan and I watched the Star Wars movies in what he thought was the correct order. I’d never really seen a father be, well…a real father.
Me: I’m sorry. Wanna talk about it?
Dantheman: It’s the same old story. The pressure he’s putting on me about basketball and college is driving me bat-balls crazy. It’s hard to have any fun at all. There’s so much pressure to be the best, to succeed.
Me: Have you explained that to him? That you feel stressed.
Dantheman: Feelings? What are these things you speak of? There’s no crying in basketball! What I mean to say is my dad isn’t exactly a “feelings” type of guy.
I can’t argue with him on that. His dad is not a softy by any means.
Me: Well, from what I can tell, you guys are close. Maybe you’re not giving him enough credit? Maybe he would understand. Honesty is the best policy, after all.
I cringe at my last sentence. The hypocrisy is strong with this one.
Dantheman: I guess you’re right. I do want to be honest with him because it might improve my quality of life, and we’d understand each other better. Then again, I could just bear with it until college, when I’ll be free.
Me: You might think you’ll be free, but I’m willing to bet that your dad will just continue to put pressure on you about the next big thing. That kind of stuff can cause serious emotional damage to a person.
He’s quiet for a long time. This conversation got way more intense than I was expecting. Time to lighten the mood.
Me: Or you could just play a game that’s a great stress reliever. I hear Shoot Your Face Anywhere on the new handheld is good for that.
Dantheman: I freaking love that game! Do you have it? We could play!
Ha! Do I have the newest handheld gaming device? I’m lucky if my first year Nintendo DS runs for ten minutes.
Me: Unfortunately, no. I’ve been saving up for one, though.
Mental note to self: start saving up. And not because I could potentially kick Dan’s butt in this game, because there’s no “potentially” about it, but because everyone needs goals in life.
Dantheman: Damn. Hey, thanks for listening to me whine about my stupid problems.
“Awww,” I say. Out loud. To no one at all. What the hell is wrong with me? And why am I constantly asking that question lately? I know why, though. It’s him. It’s all his fault. When he’s standing in front of me, it’s easy to despise him. But here, in our little corner of the internet, I feel like I’m just a girl talking to just a guy. It’s infuriating.
Me: It’s no biggie. :)
There’s a pause in conversation where I don’t know what else to say. I have this weird feeling like this is a turning point, but it can’t be that big of a thing, right? That I was there for him? I can’t be the only person he feels comfortable talking to about personal things.
Dantheman: Can I be totally honest real quick? And if what I’m about to say makes you uncomfortable, just block it out for the rest of time, okay?
How ominous can you get, Dan?
Me: Sure, go ahead.
Dantheman: I think you’re awesome and amazing. Probably one of the coolest girls I’ve ever met. One of the coolest people I’ve ever met, in fact. I don’t have many friends. Not real ones, anyway.
Nope nope nope. This isn’t what I want to hear! I have to stop him before he endears himself to me anymore.
Me: Thanks, dude! I gotta go, though. Talk to you later, okay?
I don’t even wait for his response. I log off and sit back. What have I gotten myself into?
Chapter Nine
Dan
I’ve heard the stories about people finding their soul mates on the internet, but those were mostly from online dating site commercials. And I never actually believed them. But I’m not one to deny something that’s plain in front of my face.
The conversations with this girl are fantastic. She’s extremely smart. Dare I say, maybe smarter than me? Maybe. I double-check our chats on my phone when I get to first period to assure myself that I’m not making up the awesomeness that has happened.
Of course, I’ve been charming without being cheesy. She’s been cute in all the ways I like a girl to be cute. She only uses one emoticon and that’s the one for flipping a table in anger, which is fantastic. The occasional smiley face I can forgive. Plus, it was me who brought up the idea that we continue chatting, not her, which is a good sign that she is in fact a girl around my age and not a thirty-year-old dude hanging out in his basement.
Would it be weird to message her now? It hasn’t even been eight hours since we chatted last. I wanted to confess more last night. I wanted to say that she’s been a lighthouse during a storm on the sea. She’s been a much-needed confidante. Should I say all those things now? In the light of day, it sounds so sappy, but I mean every bit of it. Or should I see her quick disappearance as fate? As a sort of time to check myself?
Class starts, taking the decision out of my hands, but that doesn’t mean I can’t spend the next hour or so totally not paying attention to Mr. Boggin’s lecture on Of Mice and Men, and instead figuring out the most intriguing yet unique thing to say to effyeahFinityGirl.
By the time first period is over, I have almost perfected it, but it still needs some polishing. I am debating between, “How is your day going?” or “Today’s public schooling system boggles my mind. Why are we studying tomes that are so ancient? Does Of Mice and Men really teach us something that we can’t learn by reading something more contemporary and relatable? In fact, I’m almost positive I read a Star Trek novel that tackled some of the same ideas as OMaM.”
As I’m walking to my locker, I get this overwhelming feeling that it would be freaking awesome to say these things to this girl in real life. We’ve only been talking for a couple of weeks. Would it be too soon to ask to meet? Hell if I know. I’m not good at these types of interactions. Females are confusing creatures. Plus, I have no idea where she lives. She could be in Tokyo for all I know.
Another shocking thought pops into my head. I wish I could talk to Maddie about this. Frightening, isn’t it? That I would need or want the cheerleader’s help not just once but twice in such a short period of time. What is happening to me? But it would be nice to have her opinion. Then again, she’d probably make fun of me or start pushing me to talk about Zelda. But who else will be knowledgeable about this kind of stuff?
I close my locker and pull out my phone, quickly typing in a text to Maddie. Then I slam into someone, both of us knocking each other back a few steps.
“Whoa, sorry about—” Zelda realizes who she’s talking to and loses the apologetic tone faster than Quicksilver after drinking a Red Bull. “Aren’t you watching where you’re going? Oh, I guess not.” She nods at the phone in my hand.
“First off, I’m sorry. Second off, why didn’t you dodge me if you were paying attention?” I lean down and pick up her phone, which she dropped. I shake my head and tsk tsk tsk
at her. “Hypocritical much?”
She rolls her eyes and stomps her foot. I’d call the action cute if I didn’t know this girl wouldn’t hesitate to take out her frustration on a part of my body that is very near and dear to me. A part of my body that holds the future of the Garrett line. The part that could potentially, wait, who am I kidding, that will probably produce the first All Powerful, All Knowing Ambassador of the Earth…That would be my genitals, to be clear.
“Whatever. Give it back.” She holds her hand out, and I notice her fingernails are painted the most sparkly, bluey, greeny, aqua, turquoise color I’ve ever seen.
“Wow!” I shield my eyes like I’m a vampire stepping into the sun’s rays. “That’s a… Yeah, I can’t find a complimentary way of saying eye-pain-making color.”
She looks at her nails. “It’s called Medusa’s Hair Appointment and it’s awesome. Now, give me my phone.”
I go to put the phone in her hand then jerk it back. “Wait, since I have your rapt attention… You don’t still think I hit you with that basketball on purpose the other day, do you?”
Her gaze doesn’t shift from her phone. “Just stop it.” She flips her long, thick braid over her shoulder and her jaw clenches like there are a lot of words in her mouth trying to fight their way out.
I let out a pissed-off huff. “Fine. I’m sorry, for what it’s worth, which is probably nothing to you, but there you go. My new shoes tripped me up, it was an accident, I hate that it happened, and I’m sorry.”
Romancing the Nerd Page 7