The God Game

by Danny Tobey

  “Do it,” Kurt said cheerfully.

  He held a cell phone up, ready to film.

  “N-n-no.” Alex was sputtering with fear. A football player was on either side, holding Alex’s arms back.

  Kurt gave him a rough shove. Alex kept his head down, hair over his eyes.

  “Did you really think we’d let you get away with this? I mean, what the fuck? I thought Asian kids were supposed to be smart.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “I’m going to call you Dumb Asian from now on,” Kurt said, his smile ugly and mean.

  “Eat shit.”

  Kurt slapped him so hard and so quickly across the face that it seemed to startle Alex before the pain set in. But then a bright red mark appeared on his cheek and he closed his eyes, trying not to cry.

  The slap woke Charlie up. He’d been watching, frozen. Now he was alert. He had a choice to make. Neither option was pleasant.

  And what had Alex done? Did you really think we’d let you get away with this? Get away with what? What crazy thing had Alex done now to put himself at risk? Stop victim-blaming, Charlie told himself. No one deserves this. You’re just a coward, looking for an excuse not to get involved.

  “Do it,” Kurt said to the guys holding Alex.

  Do what?

  Alex looked terrified. He began to struggle furiously.

  There were five guys, at least. There was no way Charlie could run for help in time. Even if he called someone, it would be too late by the time they got here.

  Earlier, Alex had, in his own way, asked Charlie for reassurance, to let Alex know he wasn’t alone, and Charlie had bungled that miserably. With a second of hesitation, he’d sent Alex further down that hole of isolation.

  He felt a surge of anger. At Kurt. At Tim, who wasn’t even here, but he led this crew of sadist kings. At Alex, for being the one Vindicator who threatened to turn them all from lovable, even liked, nerds into something else. At himself, for feeling that way.

  On either side of Alex, a jock grabbed Alex’s pants and pulled them down. He screamed, “No!” One of them pulled his underwear down next. Goddamn if he wasn’t a seventeen-year-old kid wearing superhero boxers. Then he was exposed, his dick hanging out for the world to see, neither small nor big, just a normal dick, all the guys laughing and jeering, and Kurt held up his phone to snap a picture.

  Charlie ran. He ran faster than he’d ever run in his life, clearing the distance between them in no time and launching at Kurt so quickly that none of those fascist, cruel motherfuckers saw him coming, so focused were they on tormenting the Boy from Mars and his perfectly normal dick. Charlie had never been in a fight before, but there was a first time for everything.

  The adrenaline was surging and he launched into Kurt Ellers and took him down to the dirt and got one good punch into his smug face before Joss pulled Charlie off. “Erase that,” he shouted, grabbing for Kurt’s phone as Joss dragged him away. The phone had hit the ground a few feet away. “Leave him alone.”

  “The fuck I will.” Kurt got up and wiped dirt off his face with the back of his hand. “Did you tell him to do this?” Kurt’s eyes narrowed maliciously.

  “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about,” Charlie shot back.

  Alex was staring at the whole thing, incredulous. He backed away from the guys, who were all watching Charlie, and pulled his pants up.

  Just before the first punch landed, Charlie thought, Oh, well, these guys were coming for me sooner or later. At least this was on his terms.

  Charlie felt the sting and his head snapped back into Joss’s chin.

  He felt the grip loosen, just for a second.

  Charlie raked his heel down and back, along Joss’s shin. There was a yelp and Charlie pulled away just in time, before the thug got his bearings back. Kurt’s phone was on the asphalt, and Charlie came down on it hard and fast with all his weight on the back of his heel. The screen smashed and the body cracked. Charlie backed against the portable shed as the group advanced on him. He took one of the bricks from the pile of construction materials and chunked it at them, slowing them down a bit. He took another brick and brought it down on the phone, then again and again, until it was crushed and shattered.

  “That was new,” Kurt whined.

  “Let him go,” Charlie said, nodding at Alex and holding the brick up, ready to attack. His lip was smarting and he could taste blood. But he felt exhilarated. He felt alive and with purpose for first time in a year.

  “You’re dead,” Kurt, not cheerful anymore, said to Charlie.

  “We all have to go sometime.” Charlie tried to sound brave and cavalier, although inside, he felt a pit in his stomach.

  The backup QB, Chris Everett, rushed him, and Charlie swung with the brick. It hit Chris’s shoulder.

  The football player staggered backward, saying, “You’re fucking crazy.”

  “Come on,” Charlie told Alex.

  Uncertain, Alex looked from tormentor to tormentor, but all eyes were on Charlie. Alex joined Charlie by his side.

  They backed away, until they were around a corner, then Charlie dropped the brick and they took off running. Alex had always been surprisingly fast. He got ahead of Charlie, then slowed down so they could escape together. But the football crew did not follow. Whatever they had planned for Charlie, it would come later.

  But one thing was certain. It would come.

  Once they were safe on the far side of the school, Charlie said, “Are you okay?”

  Alex was sullen now, the shame of what had happened settling in.

  “I didn’t see anything,” Charlie tried, but it sounded flat. He tried for humor. “I mean, except for your dick, which was awesome.”

  Alex shook his head.

  “Too soon?” Charlie asked.

  “Those fuckers. I hate them.”

  “Alex, it’s over. You’re okay. We smashed the phone.”

  “They’ll tell everyone.”

  “Tell everyone what? That they’re sick fucks? That you look like every over guy at this school in the locker room? There’s nothing to tell.”

  Charlie thought of something. “What did you do, anyway?”

  “I didn’t deserve that.”

  “I know. Of course not. But still, what was that about?”

  “Nothing.” Alex’s eyes flicked to his backpack reflexively. He saw that Charlie saw and lowered his head even more.

  Charlie took the bag. Alex didn’t even try to stop him.

  Inside, hundreds of printed copies of a flyer pictured Tim Fletcher’s head photoshopped on a cartoon body with a tiny prick.

  The flyer looked like a concert poster and said ALL HAIL LORD LITTLEDICK.

  “You made these?”

  Alex shrugged. “It wasn’t hard,” he said sarcastically.

  “Yeah, I know. Why did you make this?”

  He shrugged again. “That guy’s an asshole.”

  “The world is filled with assholes. Tim’s been one for years. Why did you do this?” A sickening thought occurred to Charlie: the kiss, Tim confronting him in the hall. “Did you do this for me?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Charlie started, but then he let it go. “Did you put any up?”

  Alex shook his head. “One of their minions saw me printing them in the library.”

  Reckless and sloppy. Maybe Kenny was right. Maybe Alex was bringing them all down.

  Alex said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Of course I did,” Charlie said, but deep down, he wasn’t so sure.

  Alex started to walk away, but Charlie grabbed his arm to stop him. Alex flinched.

  “Are you okay?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Let me see.”

  Charlie pulled Alex’s sleeve up. Bruises were up and down his forearm, but they were old bruises.

  “What the hell?”

  Alex jerked his arm
away.

  “Have they bothered you before?”

  “No.” Alex’s cheeks were flushing.

  “Alex—”

  “I’ll see you later.”

  “Alex. Tonight, right? Midnight?”

  Alex shrugged. “Where else do I have to be?”

  Charlie let him go. He wanted to say, You’re one of us. But he didn’t know whether it would come out reassuring or patronizing. Or false. Alex said he was coming tonight. That was enough, for now.

  Alex walked away, bag of mischief slung over his shoulder.

  As he left, Charlie felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

  He looked at the text.

  You did a good deed and God was watching.

  800 Goldz!

  11   DIGITAL NATIVES

  Charlie’s dad went through Charlie’s room, looking for what? Drugs? Porn? Something, anything, a clue. To understanding his own son.

  I’m losing him.

  That’s the worst thing you can think, as a father. To look at your son, who used to curl up in your lap and call you “Dah-dah” and ask for “peaner butter.” And then to realize, I don’t know him anymore. I can’t help him anymore.

  Add him to the list of people I can’t save.

  My son.

  My wife.

  Myself.

  Arthur Lake could pinpoint the exact moment he knew he was outgunned, as a father. When Charlie was twelve, the school had assigned the kids iPads. Charlie wanted to put games on his, like his friends did. But Charlie’s dad wanted to draw a line. Two games. That was it. The iPad was for school. It wasn’t a toy.

  “Okay,” Charlie said, just like that.

  Win! A Father of the Year moment.

  Then one day Arthur came home and saw the iPad sitting on the kitchen table, unlocked like always. A couple of the apps had the exclamation-point symbol, showing they needed to be updated. But one exclamation point floated in space on the screen, not over any icon. It was just there, hanging over the background picture.

  Curious, Charlie’s dad pressed on it. A whole new section of the iPad opened up, filled with games. It was as if Charlie had placed an invisible door on his screen, known only to him. If it had been his room, Charlie’s father could’ve searched for months and never found the trapdoor under the rug. Except at least a secret door has edges, a hinge, something. If not for the accidental update notice, Arthur Lake would never even have known this hidden place was there.

  What else was Charlie hiding from him?

  What would it be in a few years, when it wasn’t just games? And how the hell are you supposed to raise your kid when you can’t even find the door to his secret room?

  Now, five years later, Arthur Lake knelt in front of Charlie’s computer on his desk. Arthur woke it up, and the home screen was locked. He felt it again, the walls between them.

  Arthur tried a password so obvious, so heartbreaking, that it couldn’t possibly be right. He typed in his lost wife’s name, Alicia.

  The home screen unlocked, showing Charlie’s desktop and his mess of apps and papers. A Web browser was open and minimized. Arthur brought it up, wondering what he would find.

  It looked like some kind of game or chat room. There was a tent, like a carnival. Next to it, a lizard in a top hat was sleeping on the ground.

  The text said:

  You are invited!

  COme inside and play with G.O.D.

  Bring your friends!

  Arthur read on. At the bottom, there was a gap, then:

  Invitation accepted.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. It was a stupid game. Not instructions for a bomb or suicide cocktails. If Charlie was playing games, he was living life. He was a kid.

  Arthur moved the cursor, to see what was in Charlie’s search history, but the lizard woke up and looked right through the screen at him, as if the movement had stirred him.

  It was creepy. The animation was crude, but the responsiveness was unsettling.

  Arthur glanced at the little camera for skyping and whatnot and thought, Is Charlie watching me? Can this be motion activated, too? Am I busted? How can I be busted? he corrected himself. It’s my house. I’m the father.

  Arthur had something he wanted to tell Charlie. A reason he was feeling better than he had in months. Years. He’d let Charlie down when Alicia was sick. He tried his best but fell down. But this new thing, it could be good for all of them. A fresh start.

  He decided to leave Charlie’s room. Give him his privacy. Leave him to his games. We’ll talk tonight.

  Arthur left the room.

  He was wrong about Charlie watching him through the camera.

  It was God who was watching through that little eye.

  And why not? Wasn’t God always watching?

  12   HOUSE OF GOLD

  After school, Charlie read the text again.

  You did a good deed and God was watching.

  800 Goldz!

  What the hell? He hadn’t joined the game yet—the meeting was tonight—so why was God texting him? And what were Goldz?

  And then there was the text that got him there in the first place.

  Meet me by the portables.

  Love, Mary. Or from her phone anyway.

  Did she even send that?

  Was she trying to save Alex by tipping Charlie off to the ambush?

  Did she no-show?

  If she didn’t send it, who did?

  The game? Which he hadn’t even joined yet.

  Why would it use her? Was it aware they had been together last night? Kissed?

  Surely not.

  But there was one way to find out.

  He headed for the lockers where Mary congregated with her friends after final period. He took a wide path around the football field, spotting Tim Fletcher from a distance, with Kurt and Joss and a bunch of other uniformed lackeys, giving each other high fives and laughing. Whether it was about some great play or torturing Alex, Charlie didn’t know. Kurt strolled over to the bleachers and glanced at a phone. Had that bastard already run out and bought himself a new phone? It would take Charlie weeks, months, to afford that.

  He found Mary in the middle of a pack of friends and admirers. Hard-drinking, mean-spirited, sexy Caitlyn Lacey shot him a What do you think you’re doing here? look. Rebecca Moore looked bored. Amanda Miles, nicer, smarter, but still in another orbit, gave a knowing half smile.

  Charlie just stood there, clothes ruffled, hair mussed, a busted lip, his brown eyes focused and clear. Mary glanced at her friends, then walked past Charlie without saying a word. He followed. When they got outside and rounded a corner out of sight, he said, “Did you send me a text today?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t ask me to meet you by the portables at lunch?”

  She shook her head. She looked genuinely baffled.

  Charlie didn’t know which bothered him more—that a computer game had spoofed his wannabe girlfriend’s phone number, or that the girl herself hadn’t written him.

  She glanced at his busted lip. “I know what you did today. That was really brave.”

  “Do you know what that asshole did?”

  “Kurt?”

  “Tim.”

  “Tim wasn’t there, Charlie. He was with me.”

  “He was there in spirit.”

  “I know.”

  She raised her hand, just for a moment, toward his lip, with a look of concern on her face, but she seemed to catch herself and glanced around the corner, at the larger school out of sight behind them, as if someone might march around the turn any minute and rat them out.

  As her hand fell back, the rose-gold bracelet jangled on her wrist, and Charlie didn’t know if it was that or the fight or her denial of Tim’s involvement, but—eyes on the bracelet—he snapped, “Is that from him?”

  Charlie remembered her fidgeting nervously with it last night. “You should take it off,” he said, his anger getting away from him.

  “Charlie,
you don’t understand.”

  “Why do you keep making excuses for him?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Kurt was torturing Alex. For Tim. Over a stupid prank.”

  “I know exactly who Kurt is. Who Tim is. Charlie, that has nothing to do with us.”

  She said us, and Charlie didn’t miss it. “If he’s hurting you…”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “I can do something.”

  “No, you won’t.” She said it coolly, and it set him back a bit. But her eyes were tender.

  “I just thought…”

  Before he could finish, she put a finger to her mouth, wet it, and wiped at the cut on his lip.

  “I’m sorry,” Charlie said, watching her bracelet catch the light. “I shouldn’t have told you to take that off. I just wish you wanted to.”

  “I know.”

  He wanted to ask her what this all meant—last night’s kiss, the tender eyes and soft touch now, only in private, only out of sight. He wanted to ask her if any of it held once they turned the corner and were back in view of the world. But he didn’t ask because he didn’t want to know. And because he was afraid he already did. Remembering the feel of her finger on his lip, he wondered, What does it matter? Is there anything real on earth except right now?

  She whispered, “I have to go.”

  As she left, her gold bracelet glimmered in the sun.

  * * *

  Mr. B. looked madder than Charlie had ever seen him. He caught Charlie on the way to the Tech Lab, knowing right where to find him.

  “My room. Now.”

  “What? What did I do?”

  “Now,” Mr. B. said, eyebrows raised.

  In the classroom, he studied Charlie’s face. “Fighting?”

  Charlie sighed, relieved. So that’s what it was about?

  “It was for a good cause.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “But…”

  Burklander held his hand up. “I don’t want to hear it. God damn it, Charlie.” Charlie was startled. He’d never heard a teacher curse in anger before. “I am about to give up on you.”