Josh Baxter Levels Up

by Gavin Brown

  One of my favorite things about having Maya as a writing tutor is that, along with the many corrections and suggestions, she’ll put a little smiley face next to the bits that she thought were cool or funny. And when we meet every week, she’ll laugh at the ridiculous things I put in my essays and stories. It makes sitting at home doing my English homework a lot more tolerable, knowing that I’ll get to see her reaction to them.

  Monday has rolled around and she’s helping with my Sloppy Joe Friday exposé, and we’re laughing about how the grouchy guy at the cash register tells you to “have a nice lunch,” as if you’re a criminal headed straight to the gallows.

  “Josh, you’ve really come so far.”

  “Thanks,” I say, hoping my face isn’t glowing the way my insides are. I feel like grabbing the essay and holding it over my head, like when Link finds a new key or sword in Legend of Zelda.

  “Your writing is better, your ideas are clearer, and every essay or story is hilarious.”

  I nod, uncomfortable. I’ve never been good with praise. “Wow, thanks,” is all I can say.

  “I want you to know I’m really proud of you.” She’s smiling at me almost sadly, and I’m confused as Ms. Pritchard walks over and sits down next to us.

  “Josh, Maya tells me you’ve been doing exemplary work.” She smiles at me, too, but hers is much more genuine and happy. “The stories you’ve turned in are tremendously vivacious. They’re always … so whimsical.”

  I continue nodding, a little stunned by all the compliments. And in my experience, people being this nice almost always means that something bad is going to follow. I don’t have to wait long.

  “Because you’ve made such stellar progress, you no longer need a tutor. We have another student who needs Maya’s help now.”

  “But …” I start to object. But I can’t think of any reason. I know my writing isn’t amazing—it’s nowhere near as good as the piece of Maya’s that was in the school newspaper, for instance—but I’m doing fine. I don’t really need special help anymore.

  They’re both watching me, waiting for a response.

  I shrug. “It’s been really great, Maya,” I say. “Thanks for your help.”

  She smiles at me for real, and somehow my head fills with joy while my heart feels like it’s being crushed. It reminds me of the first time Lindsay and I laughed about something after Dad was gone. It felt amazing, and at the same time like a horrible betrayal. The thought that November is just around the corner slams into me, and I can’t quite breathe.

  I have to get out of there before the air chokes me. I try to give the Enchantress and the Punk Princess a serious look as I croak out a “thanks again, see you tomorrow” and grab my backpack, almost running for the door.

  On Tuesday our midquarter reports come out, and the news is not good. The Wall of Heroes is going to be sad tonight.

  My work has paid off in English, social studies, and science, but in math I seem to be losing battle after battle. Despite technically doing the homework and marking it down as experience points. But math was the worst early on, and I have a lot of ground to make up. I’ve been training, but in the last couple tests that Gym Leader Ramirez has thrown at me, I haven’t done much to counterbalance the earlier grades.

  Which is another way of saying that “practicing” for the Decathlon has meant I haven’t exactly been focusing on putting one hundred percent effort into my homework.

  To my credit, I don’t shrink away from it this time. I walk straight into the living room and hand Mom the midquarter report. Well, as soon as she’s gotten home, changed into comfortable clothes, eaten, and landed on the couch to watch her favorite British comedies. I wait upstairs to hear her signature hooting laughter to make sure she’s in a good mood before I head down to face my fate in the Queen’s Hall of Justice. She’s going to get an email with it tomorrow, anyway.

  After the drop-off I try to casually keep walking, heading straight up the stairs.

  “Josh, come back here,” she says, sounding incredibly tired.

  This is one of those battles where the doors close as soon as you walk in and won’t open until the showdown is over. She pauses the show and rests her chin in the palm of her hand for a few seconds before saying anything.

  “You’re on track for a C-minus in math? Really?” she finally says. “And Mr…. Ramirez … has a note saying your work at home could use improvement. It’s this Decathlon thing, isn’t it?”

  I shrug. I’m not going to lie to her, but I won’t make it easier, either.

  She sighs. “This isn’t just a little thing. Math is important. You’re the son of an accountant and a financial manager; you should know this! And your sister is in the advanced track.”

  I look at the floor, drawing invisible lines along the creases in the carpet. Does she think I don’t know how easy this stuff is for my sister?

  “Look, I know it’s important to do this competition with your friends. I’m not going to say you can’t go and play with them, or participate in the Decathlon. But no more practicing at home all night long. I’m going to have to take your systems away again.”

  “Really? But … I did so much! I got my grades up in everything else,” I protest.

  She looks me squarely in the eye. “If the games are getting in the way of you getting your work done and getting decent grades, then you can’t play them.”

  I stand there fuming for a second. Then I can’t hold it in any longer. “They have a totally different setup here. And they did at each of the last two schools. I do the work, but half the time I don’t even know what the book is talking about.”

  Mom winces, but a moment later returns to her firm tone. “And when you run into those problems in the homework, do you deal with them? Do you look them up, figure them out, ask for help?”

  “Okay, I get it,” I growl.

  “Josh,” Mom says.

  “I’m sorry,” I answer, trying to mask the anger in my tone.

  “It’s okay, Joshie,” she says, shaking her head. “I know you’re upset. I’m sure you’ll do the work to get them back up. I believe in you.”

  I nod, super quickly, not looking at her, and climb the stairs. As soon as I’m back in my room, I flop down on the bed.

  It’s like those games where you think you’ve won, and then find out that you have to play through another entire level, where all the same enemies come back twice as big and three times as angry. Only without the fun of it actually being a game.

  And it’s not fair. I worked so hard! I can see the experience chart hanging on my wall, covered in the marks to prove it. Isn’t that enough? What more can the universe demand of me?

  I sit there, pondering my failure. Downstairs, life continues on as Lindsay gets home from volleyball and Mom bangs the refrigerator to stop it from buzzing.

  Mom’s right, of course. I’ve been skipping over the hard bits, and not stopping to figure things out. I’ve been treating the math work like something I just needed to show up for, and not engage in. Somehow I don’t think Gym Leader Ramirez would approve of that strategy. It’s like going into a major battle with a new Pokémon without bothering to evolve it. If I’m playing to win, I need to get serious.

  As the Decathlon gets closer, I start spending more time at Peter’s house, practicing. Since I’m not allowed to play games at home, it’s really the only option.

  So the Carpeted Dungeon is rapidly becoming my second home. Home is where the games are, after all.

  “Peter, stop messing around!” Maya says, punching the couch in frustration.

  Peter is playing as Link, bouncing around shooting his bow at us. Maya and Peter are up against me and a computer player, and Maya is getting more annoyed with every arrow.

  “I’m unstoppable!” Peter says gleefully. “You’ve been knocked off twice, and I’ve barely been hit!”

  Of course he hasn’t mentioned that I’m the one who actually got the knockouts. I keep quietly fighting Maya’s Bowser wit
h my Yoshi, easily avoiding Peter’s arrows.

  Maya scowls. “You’re not getting hit because you’re not doing anything! You run away from everything. We’re supposed to be practicing here.”

  Peter shrugs. “You and Josh are going to win Smash Bros. easily. It will be no contest. Let’s just have fun.”

  “Probably, but we can’t practice if you won’t take this seriously! You know Zelda is my favorite game; I’d love to sit around and do nothing but that, but it wouldn’t get us anywhere.”

  Peter grunts. “Come on, Maya, you always try to take something fun and make it into work.” Taking things seriously isn’t the Rogue’s strong suit.

  I sigh. “Guys, can we play the game?”

  Peter grins. “See? Josh agrees with me!”

  “No,” I stuttered, “that’s not what I—”

  “Okay, Peter, if you want to lose your matches that’s fine by me,” Maya says. Somehow I doubt her sincerity. “I’m not going to be embarrassed by you.”

  Peter opens his mouth to make a retort, but instead his mom’s voice comes from upstairs, calling his name.

  “Oh, no,” he grumbles. “My grandma was going to call tonight. She wants to practice her English, which basically means asking me what I ate for every meal the last week and how the weather is. She thinks if she learns English she’ll meet a rich American man who will buy her a house with a pool. I have to go for a bit.”

  “Good luck,” I say. “Tell her you went vegan and it’s raining actual cats and dogs.”

  Maya doesn’t say anything, just takes my momentary distraction to knock Yoshi into the abyss and win the match.

  “Okay, let’s do this for real,” she says, tapping in the settings for a team match with the two of us against three computer players.

  We play in silence for a few minutes, apart from the occasional “look out” or “get up there,” until it becomes clear that we aren’t going to win.

  Distantly, we can hear Peter speaking slowly at the top of his lungs. “YOU’RE RIGHT, IT’S GETTING COLD HERE, GRANDMA. YES, I STILL HAVE THE SCARF YOU KNITTED ME. IT’S … VERY PURPLE.”

  I mount a desperate last-minute gambit to lure the enemies into a trap. Maya is already out.

  “So, Josh,” she says.

  “Yeah?”

  “You going to the holiday dance?”

  “Yeah. Maybe. I hadn’t really thought about it,” I say. Which is, of course, a complete lie.

  She nods, watching my character get trashed on the screen. My hands are sweaty, and the controls are slippery under my fingers.

  “Is it like … do you usually have to go with someone?” I ask. “At my old school everyone kind of went to dances and milled around, trying not to make eye contact.”

  Maya bursts into laughter, and I chuckle along nervously. “Yeah, it was like that here, too. My eighth-grade friends from writing class tell me it’s different now.”

  In my chest, my heart is about to either go supernova or collapse into a neutron star. Is she hinting at something? Or asking for advice, like Chen? I wish I had Lindsay on a radio implanted in my ear telling me what to do.

  “What about you?” I hazard.

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I’m hoping someone will ask me. We’ll see.”

  Who is she talking about? Could it be me?

  “Are you thinking of asking anyone, Josh?” she asks.

  “I, uh … haven’t really thought about it,” I say. Which is not true at all. But it’s all I can come up with. “I don’t really know anyone all that well.”

  “Isn’t that the point, though? To get to know someone?” she asks.

  Before we can say anything else, Peter comes stomping down the stairs, loudly complaining about his grandmother.

  “Really, Peter, I’m sure she’s a nice old lady,” Maya scolds him.

  “Yeah, a nice old lady on the prowl,” he grumbles. “She asked me where I think older bachelors hang out!”

  We all start laughing and it falls into place: Peter. He must be the guy she’s hoping will ask her to the dance. I might think they argue too much, but isn’t that a thing? People who like each other argue a lot?

  I keep turning it over in my head the rest of the night. In bed, I lie awake wondering how my council of heroes would handle this situation.

  ARAGORN FROM LORD OF THE RINGS would have lots of longing looks with the person who might or might not be interested in him. But he’d never do anything about it, because of honor or whatever.

  Strategic Assessment: This seems like a wildly ineffective strategy. And yet it appears to be my go-to move. I really don’t want to be one of those heroes who can defeat an army of bloodsucking spiders but runs away the first time he has to express his feelings.

  FINN FROM ADVENTURE TIME seems likely to actually do something about his feelings, even if it doesn’t work out perfectly. And, unlike most adventure heroes, he’s had a couple girlfriends. Finn would probably freak out about it for a day, then go right up to the girl and go for it.

  Strategic Assessment: Finn is a bold adventurer, but he’d blunder in and do exactly the wrong thing. Though Jake usually tells him in advance that his plan is a bad idea. Unfortunately, I spent years asking my parents for a dog and never got a normal one, let alone a magical stretchy yellow one.

  The next day, in honor of Jake (and to try to capture some of his ridiculous charisma), I wear my favorite T-shirt. It has Jake from Adventure Time taking the shape of Pikachu while Finn yells, “Jake-achu, I choose you!”

  It’s not my proudest moment, but I wait at my locker until Maya shows up. I figure if I don’t do something now, I’ll lose my nerve. All night I’ve been playing the scenario in my head. How smooth I’ll be, how easy it will be to get the truth out in the open. And I might even get a date. It all makes perfect sense in my head.

  When she shows up, I make it look like I’m finishing up packing for my first class.

  “Hey, Maya,” I say.

  “Hey, Josh,” she answers. Alarms go off in my head. How had I thought this was a good idea? It’s like trying to scale the Peaks of Social Skills armed only with a Grappling Hook of Awkwardness –2.

  “About what we talked about last night,” I start.

  Maya looks at me expectantly.

  I freeze. The Abyss of Not Knowing What to Say yawns below, with the promise of the Jagged Rocks of Looking Like an Idiot on either side.

  I have a million thoughts dancing in my head. I had thought through a whole routine about how “I’m also into someone,” and I would use subtle language and skillful interpretation of that “body language” stuff to make sure that I was on the right track. And I realize, right in that moment, that all my scenarios had ended in her basically asking me out.

  Crud.

  I try to come up with a next move, but it’s like a northern troll shaman cast one of those ice spells on me.

  She raises an eyebrow. I stand there, frozen in place.

  The moment stretches on, ice spreading through my entire body down to the tips of my fingers. “You’re a weirdo,” she says with a disgusted sigh, and turns and walks down the hallway. The wind howls around the empty mountain slopes.

  That night I go straight home and collapse into my bed. I feel completely worthless. It’s like accidentally deleting a saved game—everything I’ve been working for is completely gone.

  It’s Tuesday after school and the five of us have planned to meet up for practice. The Rogue and the Punk Princess are already there, bickering about whether to play a game we all like (“But I’m totally in the mood for some Karting, Maya!”) or the one we need more practice in (“Peter, you guys need to run your basketball plays or you’ll get crushed!”).

  The Whirlwind is there, too, and seems to be trying to get them to stop fighting with bursts of extremely compressed language, while I’m using my phone to remind myself which football players are the ones you want to use in the latest Madden. For all my bluster about being good at these
games, I haven’t actually played most of the sports games in a long time.

  Maya glances over at my phone. “Come on, Josh, you really don’t have those memorized yet?”

  I sigh. “My mom won’t let me practice at home anymore. I got a bad progress report in math and she took all my systems again.”

  “That’s nuts, man,” Peter says. “Does she want you to grow up to be one of those losers with social skills and a tan? Unbelievable.”

  “But that was our edge!” Taniko seems legitimately freaked out, though she also freaked out when Mr. Alpert was wearing nonmatching socks this afternoon, so it’s all relative with the Whirlwind. “Josh, you’re supposed to be our sports game super secret weapon!”

  I shrug. “I’ll get in some games over here, and I’ll have to hope I can surprise them with some plays I’ve been reading about online.”

  I see the disappointed looks on Maya and Taniko’s faces, and feel even worse about it than I already do. Will they want me off the team?

  “I’m sorry, guys, I really should have been keeping up.” I have a vision of returning to my old life, heading home every day with no friends and no games. “It’s just that I missed a bunch of stuff in the transfer from my old school,” I end lamely. It’s a weak excuse and I know it.

  But Peter doesn’t seem to care at all.

  “Who cares?” he says. “Josh is going to destroy them all the same. He’s going to humiliate Mittens!”

  My stomach twists in on itself at the thought of going up against the Mitten Monster, especially without being properly practiced. I can already see his gloating face. Hopefully we won’t be matched up.

  “Peter, that’s exactly the attitude that’s going to make us lose!” Maya says, getting a little flushed.

  Peter and Maya are really starting to get into it when Chen comes down the stairs with slow, plodding steps. We all, including even Taniko, fall silent by the time he gets to the bottom of the stairs. I’m not an expert body language oracle like Lindsay, but even I can see the utter desolation on his face.