Except Noog’s camera slides right past us, maybe catching us in the frame, maybe not. “And that’s where the doughnuts should be,” Noog tells his future viewers, pointing the camera at an empty side table. “Except none of you have brought me doughnuts. I’m very disappointed in you all.”
I need a way to bring his camera back on me—or rather, on me sitting here with Code’s arm practically around me. I glance around the room, then at the coffee table, then finally at the bag of dried bugs. Perfect.
“Hey, Noog!” I shout, and his head swivels toward me but his camera doesn’t. “If you’re hungry . . .” I snatch up the package of dried bugs on the coffee table and hold it up. “I challenge you to a bug-eating competition later.”
This time, his camera follows his head. “Say that again.”
I settle back into the couch—back into the space outlined by Code’s arm—and hold the bag at chest height. “I, ShadowWillow, challenge you, Noogmeister, to a bug-eating competition later today.”
Z grabs the bag out of my hand and scrunches his beautiful nose as he peers at the big black beetles on the opaque white packaging.
“Gross!” says Noog. “No one’s going to kiss you if your breath smells like bug.”
I’m sure he wouldn’t have said that if it was Z or Wolf who challenged him; being a girl means my mouth exists only to be more or less kissable. I’m not about to say that, though. “What, you guys are so scared of bugs that you won’t kiss a girl who’s so not scared of them that she’s eaten one?” I say it to all of them, but I turn to Code.
“I’m not scared of bugs,” he says, and I grin. I can already picture the CodeWillow (CodeSHADOW) shippers parsing the heck out of that statement.
“Code’s in, too,” I say.
“Wait, what? I’m not eating no bugs!”
Z snort-laughs and holds his hand up for a high five, which I give him, because why not?
“Not eating no bugs means you’re eating some bugs,” Wolf points out.
“It’s done,” Ben says. “Code, Willow, and Noog are eating bugs tonight back at the Meister Manor.” And because Ben is the boss man, his word makes it so.
Noog turns the camera on himself. “What have I gotten myself into?” he asks, hamming it up for the camera, even though he’s the one who brought the bugs and was planning to issue a bug-eating challenge himself.
“You owe me big-time,” Code says to me once the camera is off.
I simply shrug and try to give him my most flirtatious smile. “I think you owe me, for including you in this brilliant idea.”
He shakes his head, but he’s smiling, too, with his dimpled cherry cheeks. “We’ll see,” he says, and raises his eyebrows up and down a couple of times like that means something—and maybe it does. This is all going so much better than I could have hoped.
“So which one are you going to eat?” Z breaks in, and I lean over and look at the package.
“Which do you think would go down easiest?” I ask, and we debate the pros and cons of the smaller beetle with the giant pincers versus the bigger beetle with the ridged back. All of them are going to taste absolutely terrible, I’m sure, but who cares. The biggest content creator at this whole convention is flirting with me, and not only that, but Noog’s vlog is going to show the whole thing happening. If that doesn’t hook the shippers on my channel, I don’t know what will.
And all I have to do in return is eat a bug. Not a bad trade. Not a bad trade at all.
@LumberLegs: So stoked to be hanging with the Meisters at LotSCON! It’s always a good time when these guys are around! Woot!
[2.5K likes]
Ten
Lainey
I DON’T UNDERSTAND THE APPEAL OF GAMING CONVENTIONS. I MEAN, I GET that attendees get to preview new games and expansions or whatever. And the vendors hall usually has a few cool things in it, and the cosplay is always impressive.
But there are so many people. You have to line up to do pretty much anything, including use the bathroom or buy food, your ears are always full of a hundred voices talking all at once, and you can’t even breathe without inhaling someone’s perfume or garlic breath or stale sweat.
Even here in the VIP room, there are more people than chairs and the chairs themselves feel packed in. Beside me, Legs lets his shoulders sag as Noog finishes vlogging and turns his camera off, permission for Legs to turn his phony happy self off as well.
We didn’t get very much hermit time, because the guys showed up earlier than expected, filling the small room with their raucousness.
I’d suggest to Legs that we get out of here, since there’s some time before I’m supposed to help with the guys’ panel, but if Legs won’t talk to Cody, then I do want to ask Z to do it. Someone’s got to.
I should have asked Z before, when he came over to say hi to me and Legs. Now, he’s squashed on the couch between ShadowWillow and a YouTuber named Squigglez. If I wait too long, the weekend will be over, and I won’t see him again for months.
I touch Legs lightly on the arm and let him know I’ll be back shortly; then I stride over to the back of the couch, rolling my eyes at Cody’s arm, which is already around Willow’s shoulders. Good thing I warned Janessa to stay off Cody’s social media. I tap Z on his shoulder. “Hey, Z, can I talk to you?”
“Of course.” He hops immediately to his feet, understanding right away that I don’t mean here, in the middle of this big group of people.
Willow watches as he hops over Squigglez’s feet and comes around the couch to follow me out of the room.
In the hallway, I lead Z over to the opposite wall, trying to get away from people, which is an impossible task. Even this back hallway is packed.
But when you’re trying not to be overheard, I suppose the next best thing to a room with no people is a room with a lot of people. I lean against the wall, and Z mirrors me. “What did you want to talk about? The mess we left in the living room at the house? Did Noog plug up the toilet again? Oh, I know, you want to talk about koalas.”
I blink at him. “Koalas?”
“Yeah, you know, do I understand that although they’re cute and look cuddly, they’d probably swipe my face off if I tried to pick one up? I understand the need to give me the PSA; it’s important information that everyone should know.”
If I was worrying less about whether I’ll ever get back the Cody who sang dorky songs with me in a canoe and wasn’t on the verge of becoming the next #metoo headline, I’d laugh.
Z catches on to the seriousness in my face and shapes his own face to match. “Not koalas, I take it.”
I shake my head. “Yesterday, Code joked about sleeping with a fourteen-year-old.”
Z crinkles his nose. “Ew.”
“Right?!” His immediate grossed-out reaction makes my heart leap with hope. Maybe I should have talked to Z in the first place. “He’s made a lot of jokes like that this week,” I continue. “And, I mean, hopefully he knows that those are lines he shouldn’t cross in real life.” I think of Janessa and her confirmation that he hadn’t physically crossed her line, at least. “But even just joking about that stuff is . . .” I trail off, trying to find the right words.
“. . . a promotion of rape culture and misogyny?” Z chimes in.
“Exactly!” Z is definitely the right person to talk to about this. “Anyways, I’ve tried to talk to Cody about it, but he won’t listen to me. Do you think you could? Talk to him, I mean?”
Z sighs. “I wish I could.”
I cross my arms. What the heck is with these guys refusing to step up? Being an ally is not that damn hard. “You can. You just have to—”
“No, I mean, I do. I’ve called him out lots of times.”
I bite my lip. “You have?” It comes out more skeptical than I mean.
“Sure. I mean, I didn’t at first. Code’s the one who suggested adding me as a Meister in the first place, and I was in such awe of him. And he’s a nice guy, generally, you know?”
“A n
ice guy?!” My still-lingering anger spikes my left eyebrow upward.
“Sorry, you’re right, that’s a terrible excuse. Being a ‘nice guy’ doesn’t excuse jokes like that. Nothing does.
“But I swear I speak up now, though,” Z continues. “Sometimes he says things, and I’m like, ‘Whoa, buddy, you did not just say that.’ I mean, I try to do it nicely, but I do tell him.”
My anger is fizzling away. It’s hard to be angry at Z, who’s obviously making an effort. Unlike Legs, the voice in the deepest part of my brain whispers before I push it away. “Has it ever worked? Calling him out?” My heart sinks as the words slip out; I already know the answer.
Z frowns. “Does he listen to you? Because he doesn’t listen to me. Know what he said last time I tried to call him on his crap?”
Nearby, a guy walks around the corner wearing one of those blow up T-rex costumes, which has nothing to do with LotS; even though it’s a LotS convention, it seems like anything dorky or nerdy goes. I shake my head.
“He said that I was just jealous that he has way more subscribers that he does.”
Of course he did. Hamster dickhead. “Yikes,” I say.
“Yeah. Not a great look. Honestly, I don’t think he’s going to listen to anyone but his subscriber count. That’s what matters to him most.”
The T-rex guy’s friends laugh as he tries to pick something off the floor with his stubby arms. I clench my fists in frustration. “Why don’t you guys kick him out of the group?”
The edges of Z’s eyes crinkle in confusion. “For a few inappropriate jokes? If an inappropriate joke disqualified someone from being a Meister, we’d be a team of no one.”
I stare at him. I thought he got it; he seems like he’s trying so hard to get it, to be an ally. But I suppose the fact is that the guys’ jokes are things he sees, not feels. He doesn’t have an elastic inside him—or maybe he does, but he doesn’t have to feel it pulled tight with every obnoxious joke. He knows the theory, can spout the right words, but he doesn’t understand it, not yet, not fully. “You’re not making me feel much better about the state of the world, Z.”
He laughs, and I want to believe that, like me, it’s because if he doesn’t laugh at these things, he’ll cry. “Uh, if you want to feel good about the state of the world, you probably need to move to a different planet. On this one, even the koalas will kill you.” Z arches onto his tiptoes and cranes his neck. “Though I’m pretty sure that person who just walked past was eating a LotS cookie. The world can’t be that bad if there are LotS cookies in it, Lainey.”
I laugh so I don’t cry. “An excellent point.”
Z stops tiptoeing to try to see over the person’s shoulder and turns back to me. “Sorry. I’m easily distracted.” He glances over his shoulder again, then back. “We were talking about Code.”
I shake my head. “No we weren’t. We were talking about how you were going to go run after that person to find out where the cookies are so you can bring back a whole tray.”
“Heck yeah, we were!”
“Go go go!” I wave him off, and he goes running.
I lean against the wall again, not ready to return to the VIP room, where I might overhear my big brother spout off offensive joke after offensive joke. I sigh. Cody won’t listen to me, he won’t listen to Z, and Legs won’t even try to talk to him. What else am I supposed to do? I have to do something. I’m not giving up.
Z has fully disappeared, but his words play back in my head. I don’t think he’s going to listen to anyone but his subscriber count. Or his subscribers generally? Maybe that’s the answer.
Maybe if I could find some comments his followers have made on his videos, then show those to Cody, he’d finally listen. I whip out my phone to look at some video comments, then remember that I’m outside the US and only have a tiny bit of data on the international plan I got—which I’m not wasting on my brother.
I pull out my map, find the playtesting room, then head in that direction.
The room is almost full, but I snag an empty computer near the back. As long as I’m online, I decide to check my email and various social media. There are numerous messages from Janessa, following my helpful warning to her to stay off Cody’s social media.
Why?
Is Cody talking about me?
I looked on his social media. I can’t find anything.
What am I watching for?
I roll my eyes.
I told you not to go on his social media.
I’m about to log back off when the little dots appear indicating that Janessa is typing a response. I tap my fingers on the table while I wait. I’m sure I don’t have a lot of time before Cody starts pinging me wondering where the heck I am, since I’m supposed to be on duty.
I’m about to give up waiting and log off when her message appears.
Right, but you wouldn’t tell me why. What else am I supposed to do?
I shake my head. It’s sad when women don’t trust other women. And annoying. What’s the point in trying to help her if she’s not even going to listen?
I could explain to her about Willow, but I’ve already wasted enough time waiting for her idiotic response. And besides, she’s really better off not knowing.
It’s nothing, I write. Forget I said anything.
And then I log out and close the window before she can distract me any further. I have things to do.
I switch over to YouTube and find Cody’s channel. I pull up his latest video, press Pause, then scroll through the comments, looking for a callout.
Teddybeer: LOL
SueNanPat: I don’t get this game at all
Goldberg Gutenberg: I almost pooped my pants when those lights went out!!!
RevolutionaryWomen: this video is a metaphor for life
ISweatRootbeer: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”—Codemeister
Buffy1982: y didn’t you play this with shadowwillow?!?
XXMUSCLESXX: your such a wimp
LlewyDAD: CODESTER FOR LIFE!!!!!!!
Betty Felon: If you like this, check out my channel! I play horror games and post every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday.
IKerryAboutYou: I <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 you
Good Will Hacking: hahahaha
The Empress: My toddler walked in while I was watching this and now he knows the F word. Oops.
theoutlawinlaws: CODESTERS UNITE
Nothing. He must not say anything grotesque in this one, or surely at least someone with a username like RevolutionaryWomen would have something to say.
I click to another, press Pause, scroll through the comments. More of the same drivel.
My eyes glaze over halfway down the page. Does he not say anything terrible in this video either? How is no one outraged at him? How is it possible that Cody-the-big-mouth-meister doesn’t have a million people ranting in his comments about how terrible he is?
At that convention I helped Cody with six months ago, Z and I got in a big debate about the book Ender’s Game. I told him I couldn’t like any of Orson Scott Card’s books, because I thought the guy was a terrible person, while Z argued that you have to look at a book’s merit (or lack thereof) separate from the person who wrote it. We had some pretty great arguments zipping back and forth until Cody yelled at us to stop killing his buzz by talking about such boring things.
And though I disagreed with Z, I could understand his point. With YouTubers and streamers, though, it’s different. Cody doesn’t just create entertainment; he is the entertainment. If Cody’s videos were really separate from him, people wouldn’t wear his face. Or write fanfiction about him and the rest of Team Meister. Or ship him with Little Miss Leggings ShadowWillow.
Which means the things he stands for should matter. The things he believes should matter. Don’t these people care?
I click on the first video again, pick up the headphones on the table, and put them on.
Honestly, I’ve watched almost none of Cody’s videos. This one’s a solo video of Cody playing thr
ough some horror game with a facecam in the top corner. His intro is an incomprehensible mash-up of clips of him spewing out random nonsense noises, put to music. I skip ahead in the video and catch Cody midscream as a jump scare catches him off guard. Skip ahead more, and he’s squealing and joke-shouting at his viewers that he’ll never forgive them for making him play this game. Skip ahead even more, and there’s another high-pitched scream, caught somewhere between hamming it up and legit scared.
I switch to another video, this time a collab with all of Team Meister. They’re playing some war game, and when I skip around this time, it’s mostly them shouting at each other to “Go go go!” and “Hide! It’s a plane!”
But then Ben dies, and Cody starts tea-bagging his dead body, and I sit up straight, thinking I’ve finally found something. But the next moment, the rest of them have joined in—even Z—and they’re all laughing and making dick jokes.
Oh, right, boys become complete idiots when they play video games.
Though I don’t watch Cody’s videos, this one brings me immediately back to Cody and his high school friends in Mom’s basement, shouting at each other just like this while they waved around controllers.
Guys hug the line so closely while playing that it could be easy to miss if one stepped over it briefly here or there. And so many of his fans are guys. Maybe Cody censors himself enough that no one’s noticed a pattern. It’s either that or everyone’s noticed and no one cares enough to say something.
The idea that no one cares makes me want to vomit. I log off the computer and hurry away before I see something that tells me it’s true. I refuse to believe that it’s true.
Back in the VIP room, the coffee table now boasts napkins piled with cookies iced red and yellow and cyan, like the LotS logo, and the entire group seems to be debating whether cookies, cake, or ice cream is better.
Everyone except Legs, who’s managed to grab a basic plastic chair from somewhere and is sitting in the circle like he’s part of it, but who’s staring into his lap, mind far away. Any frustration I feel toward him withers away. He’s grieving the end of a friendship. He can barely hold a conversation; why would I have thought he’d be up for something neither Z nor I have managed to accomplish? I’d suggest that we ditch this whole thing and actually go somewhere far away, except I’m still supposed to be on duty in my role as roadie or whatever.
Fan the Fame Page 10