Game World

by C. J. Farley

  “What I do is for your protection—it’s where most of our money goes,” the Professor explained. “If I could get proof for my theories . . . I could save my funding . . . our home . . .”

  “I don’t get it. Why is your research for our protection?” Dylan broke in. “You’re always using those binoculars. How many rare birds are you going to spot in downtown New Rock? And seriously, a shark cage? What are you really looking for?”

  All the birds in the apartment began to squawk and tweet and rattle their coops.

  “I’ve said all I can say,” the Professor concluded. “We have to leave by Friday.”

  “Where are we going to go?” Emma asked. “What are we going to do for money?”

  Then Dylan saw the Professor do something he had never seen her do.

  She began to cry.

  * * *

  That night, as usual, Dylan couldn’t sleep. Three thousand windows were open in his head. It was bad enough he didn’t have a family—now, pretty soon, he wouldn’t have a place to live. He flicked on the TV just to get his mind off how his life had become an epic fail.

  The Professor hated it when he watched TV because she thought it contributed to his lack of focus. She had stopped paying the cable bill a few months back. Now they only had four channels. Two if it was raining.

  All the channels were carrying reports about the Game Changers.

  “. . . video game Xamaica. Players take on the role of a mythological beast and explore forty-four different levels. Now game-maker Mee Corp. is picking forty-four children for the Tournament of Xamaica . . .”

  “. . . winner will get what’s billed as a Grand Major Triple-Secret Prize. But parents complain the game is already too addictive, and has caused some players to run away from home to spend more time . . .”

  “. . . sold out all over the city. Analysts worry that Mee Corp. will not be able to keep up with demand . . .”

  Dylan stopped on the last channel where there was a commercial for Mee Corp. The head of Ines Mee, the daughter of the company’s founder, filled the screen. Her face was as pale and perfectly oval as an egg. She had a shadowy gaze and wore her long dark hair swept over her right eye like a black curtain. She was in all of Mee Corp.’s ads, and the company sold a lot of stuff, everything from potato chips to computer chips. She was only thirteen years old but she had her own reality show—Mee2—where she was always having some adventure in some far-off place—partying, skydiving, skiing, partying some more, sarfari-ing (if that’s even a word), auto racing, skydiving again, shopping, and it never ended. In each situation she was using some Mee Corp. product.

  “It’s gonna be beyond awesome,” Ines purred. “So come to the Mee Convention Center tonight—and see if you made the list of Game Changers!”

  Ping!

  What was that?

  Ping!

  Someone had thrown something against the kitchen window. The cockatoos in the kitchenette began to squawk; Dylan gave them crackers to shut them up before they woke up Emma or the Professor. He looked out the window and spotted Eli, one flight below, in his wheelchair on the sidewalk. He was shivering in his snuglet.

  “What’s up?” Eli called. “I’ve been throwing rocks for twenty minutes!”

  “Ever heard of a doorbell?” Dylan shot back.

  “Ever heard of paying your phone bill? Anyway, I didn’t want to wake the Prof.”

  “What’s going on? Are you and Anjali okay?”

  “We’re cool. I can’t say the same about Anjali’s French horn.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “The Xamaica tournament, man! It’s gonna be epic! We gotta go!”

  “What do you mean we? I thought you hated Xamaica—and Mee Corp.!”

  “I still want their prize money, yo! Let’s see if our names are on the list!”

  Dylan didn’t know what to say. He was pretty certain he was one of the best players around, but what if the people who were selecting the top players found out why?

  Just then, Dylan heard a bed creak behind him.

  Emma was up, clutching the lady pirate doll she always slept with, and she came over to the window. “Don’t tell me you’re going to the tournament!”

  “Buenas tardes, señorita,” Eli greeted Emma.

  “Hey, Eli,” she replied sleepily.

  “Eli—why do you always get all español around my sister?” Dylan griped. “And Emma—have you not learned your lesson about bringing that doll out in public?”

  Emma crossed her arms and looked at Dylan. “What about your condition?”

  “His seizures?” Eli asked. “He’s a Loopy. We all have issues.”

  “You didn’t tell Eli what triggers them?”

  “Shut up!” Dylan snapped. “Didn’t you hear the Professor? We might lose the apartment! We need money. If I have a shot at the tournament, I have to take it!”

  The cockatoos began to squawk again.

  “Then I’m going too,” Emma declared.

  “Why? Do you think we need you to watch us?” Dylan complained. “Do you think you’re smarter than us or something?”

  “She is smarter than us,” Eli pointed out. “Like multiples. She won the state science fair and the state spelling bee.”

  “Shakespeare once said, The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool,” Emma remarked.

  “I have no idea what that means,” Dylan said.

  “It means she’s coming along,” Eli laughed. “Vamanos, muchachos!”

  * * *

  Every kid in the city was outside the Mee Convention Center in midtown New Rock and there were loads of TV cameras and reporters too. The scene was like a Hollywood movie opening crossed with a football homecoming. Spotlights crisscrossed the air, and a stream of black limos dropped off VIPs. A line of kids, some with tickets, others hoping to score some, snaked around the outside of the building.

  “Disgusting,” Eli seethed, as he and Emma and Dylan got out of a taxi, and the driver got his wheelchair from the trunk. “Look at all the rich kids cutting the line!”

  “I guess they got special invites,” Dylan said. “We couldn’t afford tickets even if there were any available. How are we going to get in?”

  “There’s a saying that when one door closes, others open,” Emma chimed in.

  “And what philosopher said that?” Dylan asked.

  “Bob Marley.”

  “Well, he had it right,” Eli winked. “And I have a plan.”

  Dylan groaned. “Is it better than your science fair plan from last year? We got two weeks detention for that one.”

  “Totally undeserved,” Eli replied. “And not one of those armadillos was hurt.”

  Eli motioned Dylan and Emma over to the wheelchair entrance; the guard took a look at Eli and waved all three kids inside. “One advantage of being in a wheelchair,” Eli confided, as they slipped into the building.

  “Are there others?” Dylan asked.

  “Well, the chair is a babe magnet,” Eli smiled.

  Emma pretended the chair’s magnetism was drawing her in before laughing.

  Dylan, Eli, and Emma wound their way through the corridors until they came to a locked gate. “All the doors here are computer controlled,” Eli said. “I got this.”

  He pulled out his laptop.

  “I thought Chad trashed that,” Dylan said.

  “This computer is waterproof, fireproof, and goon-proof,” Eli boasted. “One of my dad’s start-up companies designed the case. Problem is, there was a bug.”

  “A bug? What kind?”

  “Lice. Totally infested the factory. So it went bust, like all my dad’s start-ups.”

  Eli typed furiously for a second and then, like a pianist finishing a dramatic solo, hit a single key. The gate slid open and the kids were staring into the stands of an arena. The seats were filled with people, but the floor of the arena was empty except for forty-four spotlights shining on forty-four empty spots. A huge screen was s
et up at one end. As the kids looked for seats in the stands, the lights went down and a roar from the crowd went up.

  A man appeared on the screen. He was slightly built, with thick graying hair, tinted lab goggles, and a white lab coat. He was humming a crazy little tune and tinkering at a computer. He stopped, stood up, and looked at the camera. “I am Dr. Mee,” he proclaimed in a thick Korean accent. “I am the founder and CEO of Mee Corp. When I was your age—as young as my little warrior Ines is now—I used to read novels of swords and sorcery. My father criticized me harshly. We lived in Seoul, Korea. He noted, quite rightly, that the books I read were all set in England. He said I should create a new place for fantasy. But I was not a writer, so I started an electronics company. The venture did not go well, at least at first. Then I took a business trip to the island of Jamaica, and there I had an idea. I fell in love with the land and its myths. The motto of Jamaica is Out of Many, One People. I thought, here is a place where I can find the fantasies that all people share. And Xamaica was born.”

  Dr. Mee vanished from the screen and the crowd cheered.

  Eli looked puzzled. “That was an old speech.”

  “How do you know?” Dylan asked.

  “Let’s just say I follow the company. Notice how he didn’t say anything about the tournament?”

  “First you tell me you hate Xamaica—now you say you follow news about Mee Corp.? What other stuff are you hiding?”

  “Me, hiding? Speaking of which, Emma said you figured out what’s behind your seizures. So what is it?”

  Dylan didn’t answer.

  A new face had appeared on the screen: Ines Mee. The crowd cheered even louder.

  “I know, right? On behalf of Mee Corp. and my dear old dad, welcome to the Tournament of Xamaica! We’ve chosen the best forty-four players in New Rock, based on your online scores. Here’s how this is going to work. There’s going to be a countdown, and then everyone can log on. This is a tag team match—you can pair up with friends or someone who is randomly assigned. Whichever pair is left standing is the winner of the Tournament of Xamaica! And I will personally give them the Grand Major Triple-Secret Prize! This is gonna be beyond awesome! Get ready for the forty-four Game Changers!”

  A list of disclaimers quickly scrolled across the screen:

  Children under the age of sixteen years old should only play Xamaica with parental permission . . . Mee Corp. is not responsible for heart attacks, seizures, brain freezes, wedgies, or charley horses experienced during play . . . If children go missing while playing Xamaica please contact local law enforcement authorities and don’t blame Mee Corp. because lots of kids disappear every year and it’s unfair to blame video games for everything.

  “Wouldn’t it be boss if we both made it?” Eli said to Dylan. “We could be a team!”

  “But you hardly even play the game!”

  “You never know.”

  Ines was reading the list, which wasn’t alphabetical, probably to build tension and keep people guessing. First up was a tall girl named Sarah, then this kid Rawley, then two brothers, Justin and Devin, then a brother and sister, C.J. and Sasha. Players heard their names and went down to their places in the spotlights. Some kids turned out not to be in the building when their names were called. Their spots were quickly and eagerly filled. After five minutes or so, only three empty spotlights were left.

  “The next lucky kid is—Chad Worthington!” Ines announced.

  Chad’s beefy freckled face appeared on the big screen. He was dressed in a sweatshirt with a logo of a tree and a bird baring its claws—the Fighting Bird logo of Asgard Prep, a super-exclusive private school on the good side of town.

  “Chad used to go to private school before his dad became superintendent of public schools,” Eli pointed out. “I’m sure if his dad ever leaves his high-paying government gig, Chad will go right back to Asgard and all his rich buddies.”

  Chad gave high-fives and chest-bumps to some of his fellow Fighting Birds and took his place in the spotlight.

  “Two more shots,” Eli said.

  Dylan felt like he couldn’t breathe.

  “The next lucky contestant: Elizondo Niall Marquez!”

  The crowd went crazy again, and Dylan’s jaw dropped as he looked at Eli, who just grinned and wheeled himself down to his spotlight.

  There was one spot left. Would Dylan get it? Or had Mee Corp. uncovered his secret?

  Ines smiled. “And the final Game Changer is . . .”

  “Ariel November!” Ines announced.

  The crowd cheered wildly.

  Dylan felt his heart shrink three sizes.

  He was finished. He hadn’t been picked. Game over.

  The world was a blur. Eli was saying something. Emma was shaking her head.

  He had been fooling himself. Of course he wasn’t a Game Changer! Nothing good ever happened to him. He was just another middle school loser. And now it was time for him to go home to his loserdom, his epic fail life, his kitchenette of cockatoos, and his urine-flavored lemonade bought in bulk. This time he’d drink the whole friggin’ glass and if he was lucky it would kill him.

  “Ariel?” Ines called out. “Mr. or Ms. November? Going once, going twice . . .”

  The crowd murmured. Ariel November, whoever he or she was, wasn’t there.

  Ines stroked her long black hair. “No worries . . . We’ll just move on to our alternate . . . Dylan Rudee!”

  The crowd roared again. Dylan didn’t know what to think. Did they really call his name?

  “Dylan, come on down!”

  His name! He was somebody. He was one of the best gamers in town. He thought of all the kids at school who called him nerd or loser or Loopy or worse. Maybe they were watching him on TV. He finally had one thing that he did well and it was games. And not only that, he had a way of playing this particular game that nobody else had. Then a note of doubt echoed through Dylan’s head—what if he really wasn’t one of the best? What if he was really just a sneaky kid with inside info?

  “C’mon, Dylan,” Emma cheered. “Go on down!”

  Dylan couldn’t feel his legs, but somehow he was moving. Everything seemed like one of those dreams where you know you’re dreaming. He came down from the stands into the spotlight and saw his face on the big screen; in front of him he saw Eli smiling.

  “Sweet!” Eli shouted. “Sweeeeeeeeet!”

  Just then, Chad threw an elbow that caught Dylan in the nose and knocked him down. He tasted blood in his mouth. The crowd, which saw the hit on the screen, let out a gasp.

  “Man up, Loopy—’cause I’m taking you down!” Chad barked. “That’s right, I said it.” Suddenly aware that he was on camera, he mugged for the crowd. The gasps turned to cheers. He chewed hard on his gum, blew a bubble, then let loose an Olympic-sized fart. The crowd loved it. “I got my swagger back!” he boomed.

  Dylan scrambled to his feet. The cheap shot returned him to reality. As he stumbled into his spotlight, his left nostril was leaking blood. He couldn’t play Xamaica like this; he thought maybe his nose was broken.

  “Shhhhh. Lean forward, not back. You have to give the blood a place to go.”

  Emma had come up behind him. She put her pirate doll against his nose; he hadn’t even noticed that she had brought it with her, but the darn thing made an excellent sponge. Emma pinched Dylan’s nose bridge, then rolled up the doll’s tiny felt hat and slipped it into his left nostril, stopping the bleeding.

  “I-I-I didn’t know you knew how to do that,” Dylan stammered.

  “There are a lot of things about me you don’t know,” Emma smiled.

  “Gracias por tu ayuda!” Eli said. “That’s a good woman!”

  “She’s a nine-year-old girl,” Dylan fired back. “And she carries around a pirate doll.”

  Emma crossed her arms. The doll was a sore spot—Chad and his boys had stolen it once, and the whole episode was kind of a disaster. “This isn’t about me. If we lose the apartment, do you really think social
services will let the Professor keep us? You have to win that prize.”

  “No pressure, huh?” Dylan muttered, as Emma returned to the stands.

  A countdown appeared on the big screen: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!

  Naturally, Dylan and Eli chose each other as teammates. To start the game, a player had to say two and a half simple words:

  “It’s on!” Dylan yelled.

  * * *

  The game had begun. Xamaica’s technology was a trade secret: users normally signed up online, and without a controller or any visible hardware, the game was transmitted into the field of vision of each of the players. Users were only faintly visible beneath their avatars. One time, Dylan remembered, Emma had tried the game out and she only had one comment afterward: “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Arthur C. Clarke.” He hated to admit it, but she was so right. Now, playing the game, Dylan looked out onto a tropical land shrouded by a low mist. Of course, he was only viewing a video image, but it seemed totally real. Images of what the players were seeing were projected on the big screens for the crowd.

  An orange sun and two pale moons glowed in the blue sky. This is what he loved about Xamaica: it was fantastical and yet so real. It was a world so welcoming it made him want to leave his own.

  A player couldn’t choose his or her avatar. Dylan had filled out an online form that had asked all sorts of weird questions, including, Was your great-great-grandaunt left-handed? and, Have you ever eaten a plantain tart under a full moon? and, What’s life all about anyway? Dylan had no idea why they needed to know those things, and he’d left half the answers blank. But soon after, an avatar was assigned to him that was supposed to reflect what he was about. Since Dylan’s avatar was a duppy, it looked like him, only a little transparent. But it had many powers. As a spirit-creature, he was a shape-shifter and a mimic—for brief bursts, he could take on the powers of any magical beast in Xamaica. He could shoot fire like a Rolling Calf, even fly like an Iron Lion—a creature with a lion body, a human face, and huge metallic butterfly wings.