by Lev AC Rosen
“What did you say?” Ms. Knight asks, but her voice is shaky, too high, up and down, sounding like a cuckoo clock. Charlie and his friend walk the other way down the hall, ignoring her, still laughing.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Nick says softly, and looks up. He feels bad for putting Charlie’s focus on her, and on Nat.
“Well,” Ms. Knight says, her voice firm, “I thought I did. Come on, you two, you have my class next.”
“That was cool of you, Ms. Knight,” Nat says, her color returning to normal.
Ms. Knight nods but doesn’t look at them as they walk into the classroom. They’re the first ones there, and sit down in the back. Ms. Knight takes a piece of chalk and starts writing something on the board.
“I have so much English homework,” Nick says, seeing all the books in his bag as he takes out his history notebook. “Have you finished Romeo and Juliet yet?” Nat doesn’t answer, and he looks up at her. She’s focused on Ms. Knight, her head tilted slightly, like a drop of water about to fall off the corner of a rooftop after a storm.
“Do the teachers know about your mom?” she asks in a near whisper.
“What?” Nick asks, whispering back without knowing why. He swallows. Ms. Knight knows, but he’s not sure about the other teachers. He hopes not.
“Like, is it in your file or anything?”
Nick shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “Why?”
“I’m wondering if Ms. Knight would know.”
Nick looks over at Ms. Knight. She erases something on the board with her sleeve, then rewrites it. “She knows,” he says.
“Are you sure?” Nat asks. Her whispers are becoming excited, like a faucet turned on low sputtering into high.
“Yeah, I…” Nick pauses, not sure what to share. “She saw me at the home my mom’s at. She figured it out.”
“What if it’s her?” Nat blurts out, loudly enough that Ms. Knight turns for a moment. More students are coming in, too. Nick stares at Nat, her eyes wide, freckles like glitter. She’s figured out a secret, she’s won a battle. Nick looks over at Ms. Knight, who is wiping chalk dust from her hands and surveying the board. A stray thread of hair falls over her face, and she pulls it behind her ear.
“I…,” Nick says. “I guess. Maybe.”
The bell rings, and Ms. Knight starts class. She picks up a piece of chalk and points it in front of her like a spear, and Nick feels like he’s been stabbed in the chest.
• • •
In class, they’re separated and Nick has to talk about communism with Emma Angel-Love again, who tries to ask him more about Nat’s dad. He keeps his eyes on the textbook and instead discusses the Free German Youth and the similar programs throughout other communist countries.
After class, he waves at Nat, getting ready to head to biology, but she holds up a finger and he waits as she packs up her things—slower than she needs to. When they’re about to leave, they’re the last ones there besides Ms. Knight, who is erasing the board.
“Ms. Knight?” Nat asks.
“Yes?” Ms. Knight stops, and smiles at Nat. “Something I can help you with?”
“It’s about…the game,” Nat says. Nick feels his pulse freeze, each slow beat of it releasing ice water into his blood.
“Wellhall?” Ms. Knight says. “Nick told you I play it?”
“Yeah,” Nat says, and adjusts her backpack straps and looks Ms. Knight in the eye. She looks like a large cat, not crouched in fear, but studying. “And that’s really cool. We just want to know where you are in the game so we don’t give anything away when we’re talking before class.”
“Oh,” Ms. Knight says, pulling her hair back behind her shoulders and turning back to the board, erasing the blur of chalk words. “Don’t worry about that. That’s sweet, but really. I don’t pay much attention to what you’re talking about before class. I just assume it’s none of my business.” Behind her back, Nat shoots Nick a look, her eyebrows like bowstrings rising into curves, then snapping flat.
“Well, yeah,” Nick says, hoping it’s what Nat wants, “but just in case. So we know when to whisper.”
“Oh,” Ms. Knight says, and she stops erasing and stands straight up but keeps her eyes on the board. “Well, I crashed, of course, but I haven’t even made it to Wellhall yet. I’m in Brightbank. I’m playing a cleric, so I figured I’d join the Temple there, do some of those quests. Haven’t started, though.” She starts erasing again. “Lessons to plan, homework to grade. I bet I have less free time than you two.”
“Thanks, Ms. Knight,” Nat says. “We’d better go. We’re going to be late.” She takes Nick by the arm and directs him toward the door.
“See you tomorrow,” Ms. Knight calls. “Happy gaming.”
Out in the hall, Nat pulls Nick into a corner, earning some stares and chuckles from passing classmates.
“She’s not far enough,” Nick says. But he isn’t sure. Ms. Knight as Reunne makes sense—she knows about Mom, knows about the project he’s doing on her—even sees his notes on it. And she seems cool. She could be one of the TV teachers who gets overly involved in the lives of students “going through something.” She could be trying to Make Learning Fun. She wouldn’t know that Nick would think it was Mom. She wouldn’t know how awful a betrayal it could be.
Nat shakes her head. “It’s her. She was totally lying back there. Did you see how she wouldn’t make eye contact? Mom says that’s a sure sign of lying.” She looks down at her feet. “She taught it to me so I would know when my dad was lying about being drunk. And in the game,” she says, looking back up, “Reunne is teaching you, like you said. Teaching. I think she’s trying to help you with your project.”
“I don’t know…,” Nick says. “Maybe. But Reunne seems…older. Doesn’t she?” He’s not sure anymore. It’s like the ground is shaking.
“It’s easy to act in-game. I don’t remind you of Elkana in real life, do I?”
She does, but Nick suspects telling her she reminds him of a troll isn’t the best move. “Well, you’re both really forthright,” he says. “Direct. Take-charge.”
“I’m not really like that,” Nat says, but her freckles seem to glow for a second, halos of red around them like stars.
The bell rings.
“We’re going to be late,” Nick says.
“I’ll meet you at the buses after school.”
“See you then.” They separate and head for their classes, but Nick pauses to turn and watch her for a moment, the memory of her blushing fading in his mind.
The rest of the day is a series of glitches, pixels freezing then leaping ahead, so Nick keeps feeling as though he’s missed something. He can’t stop thinking of Reunne: his mother, NPC, Ms. Knight, some other player entirely? It’s not that the idea of Ms. Knight playing Reunne seems impossible, just uncomfortable. He hasn’t said anything out of character to Reunne—that would get him kicked off the server—but he still feels as though he’s connected with her in a way that…if it was Ms. Knight, would be weird. Icky. He doesn’t want her to be Ms. Knight.
He doesn’t want to tell Nat this, though, so when they sit together on the bus later, he stays quiet. She was so excited about her theory, and he can’t prove it’s wrong. He just hopes it is. She sits next to him and playfully bumps her shoulder into his. He’s texting Dad where to pick him up later. The bus smells like hot plastic and sweat.
They ride in silence for a moment. “I’m not saying it’s impossible that it’s your mom,” Nat says suddenly, as if she knows what he’s thinking, or as if she’s picking up from a conversation she’s been having with him in her head for a while. “It’s just that if I had to choose between your mom and Ms. Knight, Ms. Knight seems more…” She circles her hands around each other like she’s raising a drawbridge. “Realistic,” she says finally, the drawbridge shutting into place with a concrete thud. Nick takes a long breath. “Sorry,” she says. “I could be wrong. I don’t know your mom. But Reunne is always there when we’re playing—and Ms
. Knight is working when we’re in school.”
“And my mom could be waiting for us.” Nick looks out the window at the passing suburban houses, all pale and small. “Or doing stuff when we’re in school and then coming back to meet us. Learning about the world so she can link her history to it. Like switching all the mages’ robes.”
“Yeah,” Nat says, nodding. Nick can see her reflection in the window. “But would your mom be allowed to play as much as she wanted?”
“You think she’s sick, don’t you?” Nick asks, still looking out the window. He sees her face in the glass again, staring at him. Her eyes open wide and fill with the row of trees they’re passing by.
“I don’t know,” she says. “But doctors believe she’s sick enough to be in this home. So I think she’s probably a little sick. Maybe not as bad as everyone thinks…but…”
“It’s hereditary,” Nick says. “If you think she’s sick, you think I’m sick, too.” He regrets it the moment he says it. His tone was mean, metal. He stares out the window.
“I know,” she says. “What I don’t know is if your mom is sick. I don’t know. I know you don’t think she is, and your dad thinks she is, and there are doctors, and her, and I’ve never met any of them. So I don’t know. And I don’t know how you can be angry at me for not knowing.”
Nick turns around and looks at her. Her expression is steelier than he’s ever seen it. She looks like a freshly forged shield.
“You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry. I’m angry at everyone for not knowing. It’s like I keep getting pricked with ragebrew. Do you ever feel like that? Like suddenly one word can make you so frustrated, and you know it’s wrong, but you can’t help it?”
“All the time,” Nat says, and nods. “And when my dad was drinking, and people didn’t really know, they’d say stuff, like stupid little things, like how his tie was crooked at a dance recital or something, and I’d get so mad. I stepped on a girl’s foot once. I mean, I made it look like an accident, but it was on purpose. I was in heels, too.”
“You dance?” Nick asks, his vision suddenly filled with images of Nat in sparkly dresses, like on the celebrity dance shows on TV.
“I used to. I stopped when Dad went to rehab.” She looks away at the rubbery back of the seat in front of them. Someone has written Suck it in silver pen. She twirls her pendant in her hand. It looks like a lace glove made out of thin gold, with a single green stone in the center. She twirls it back and forth. Nick isn’t sure what to say, and wonders if this is how Nat feels every time he mentions his mother. “This is our stop,” Nat says.
The bus deposits them down the street from the shopping center with the Chinese restaurant and the bookstore. They walk down the sidewalk in silence.
“Sorry if that was weird,” Nick says as they enter the shopping center. “I didn’t mean to bring up your dad’s…”
“Alcoholism,” Nat says without a hint of embarrassment. “Don’t worry. I stopped dancing because Dad was sick, but I could have restarted if I wanted. I just didn’t want to.”
“If you want to talk about it or anything…,” Nick says.
“I’m okay. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Me?” Nick looks up at her. “Why would I want to talk about your dad?”
“Some people do. Makes them feel better to talk about it. I can answer questions, if you want. What he drank—gin, mostly, but he wasn’t above vodka or beer. How much—I’m not sure. He had a few G and T’s when he got home from work every day, but he definitely drank at work, too, and drank some more where we couldn’t see him. Want to know what sort of drunk he was? He was fun, actually. Probably why it never seemed like a problem. He was cheerful and funny and thought everything was great.” She lists all these traits in a voice as even as a blade’s edge. He can see Elkana meditating, reciting small chants to herself. It’s like that.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to…”
“You don’t have to apologize,” she sighs. They’re in front of the restaurant but she stops. She turns to face him and looks him straight in the face. “Don’t talk about it in front of my mom, okay? But don’t worry, you didn’t do or say anything wrong or anything like that.” Her voice is cheerful, reassuring, but forced, like a greeter at one of the big chain stores in the mall.
Nick nods. “Okay,” he says. “I just…I felt bad.”
“You shouldn’t. If you still do,” she says, opening the door to the restaurant, “that’s more your issue than mine.”
Nick has been in here once before, but it was years ago, and his memories are of just a lot of red, and the smell of things frying in oils, and spices he didn’t know the names of. It’s still all that: red walls, black wooden tables shiny as oil spills, and a gold ceiling, but now he sees it as Nat’s place, too. He sees how the staff smiles at her and how she walks to the back to a circular booth and sits down as though the booth is hers. This is clearly Nat’s home. He wonders what her mom is like. And her dad—aside from all the alcoholic stuff she just told Nick. Is he repentant now? Sadder? His own dad is sadder now. Because he’s given up—he won’t fight like Nick does. And he’s lost his wife. Nick follows Nat down the aisle, pausing for a moment as a server whisks past him. His dad has really lost Mom. Nick’s only just met Nat, and just the idea of losing her feels like a punch in the stomach. For his dad, it must be…something he can’t think about. Nick sits down next to Nat in the booth and smiles at her, trying not to think about Dad. Dad will be fine once Mom is home. Almost immediately after Nick sits, a server sets a tray of food down in front of him and Nat.
“Thanks, Mike,” Nat says. Mike smiles and walks off. “My mom will be out in a sec, now that she knows I’m here. Depends how the kitchen is.” She looks around the restaurant; it’s about half full, and the people eating are doing so slowly. “I’m guessing two minutes.” She starts unpacking her backpack. “Want to start with history homework?” she asks.
“Um, sure,” Nick says. He’d been hoping to talk more about Reunne. But he gets out his books and a pen and piles them all up like Nat has.
“You should eat, too,” Nat says, motioning at the food. “Scallion pancakes. They’re really good.” She grabs one and takes a bite. Nick does likewise. They’re delicious, fried dough and green bits.
“Is this your new friend?” asks a voice coming down through the rows of tables. It’s a large voice, slightly accented with New York, where every word sounds like it’s somehow squeezed “eh” into it, in both tone and feeling. Nick turns. He recognizes that the woman must be Nat’s mom: a round woman in a white chef’s jacket. They don’t have much in common physically; Nat is slender and her face is oval, whereas this woman is all circles: cheeks, face, body. But they share a presence; they seem bigger than they are—Nat’s mother more so than Nat. She’s short, and really not very large, but she takes up the whole restaurant. All eyes are on her, and her eyes are on Nick.
Nick stands immediately and offers his hand for her to shake, like his mother taught him. “Hi, Ms. Asher-Woo.” He’s unsure if he should have just called her Ms. Woo, but she smiles in a way that makes him think it doesn’t matter.
“So nice to finally meet you, Nick,” she says, and shakes his hand. She’s warm, and smells so strongly of garlic and oil that touching her makes him hungry. Her expression is filled with a joy that Nick recognizes only because he hasn’t seen it for so long—the expression of mothers: the lines around the eyes that are like lists of things they love and worry about, the cheeks that are full and seem to rise like someone taking a deep breath of air before diving into the water. He hasn’t seen that expression in over a week, and he used to see it all the time, and now he has to take a deep breath, because it feels as though he’s the one underwater.
The feeling lasts only a moment, though, till Ms. Asher-Woo lets go of his hand. “You can call me Jenny, though. I hope you like the food.”
“It’s amazing,” Nick says. “My dad can’t cook at all. I haven�
��t eaten food this good in weeks.”
“Oh, poor thing,” Jenny says, an eyebrow raised in an expression Nick has seen Nat make. “I’m glad you like it. You and your family are welcome here for dinner anytime.”
“Thanks,” Nick says.
Jenny walks past Nick and leans over the table to give her daughter a kiss on the forehead. “Now get to studying. As long as you keep studying, the food will keep coming.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Nat says, rolling her eyes but smiling. Jenny vanishes back down the rows of tables and into the kitchen, and Nick sits back down.
“Your mom seems cool,” Nick says.
“She’s happy I can still make friends, with everything that happened,” Nat says. “You alleviate her guilt.”
“So we have to read chapter six in the book, right?” Nick says, reaching for another scallion pancake.
“The studying is just for my mom,” Nat says. “If she knew we were talking about the game, she wouldn’t feed us. She was serious about that. Just turn the pages in your textbook now and then and we’ll be fine.”
“Oh,” Nick says, wondering why she couldn’t have told him this earlier.
“Sorry, I guess I just assumed you’d know,” Nat says, opening her textbook. “I don’t usually bring friends to the restaurant. I mean, I usually do study. But…”
“That’s cool.” Nick opens his textbook and stares down at it for a moment. “So…Ms. Knight.”
Nat puts her arm over her open textbook and lays her head on top of that, looking at Nick. “Yeah, sorry for just springing that idea on you then bailing.”
“That’s okay,” Nick says. “But it did stay with me all day.”
“You think it’s her?”
“I don’t know,” he says. He takes another scallion pancake and begins eating it.
“I know you want it to be your mom,” Nat says, “but that’s not enough.”
“I know,” Nick says between bites. “It’s just that if I start thinking it’s not my mom—if it’s Ms. Knight or even an NPC—then I’m afraid I won’t be looking for whatever messages my mom is trying to tell me.”