Wolf and Code get in a big argument about what Code wears to sleep. “You don’t sleep in the nude,” Wolf insists. “We’ve roomed together multiple times and you’ve got those Pac-Man PJ pants.”
“I meant when I’m at home, and that question wasn’t meant for you,” Code says, which maybe should make my heart go pitter-patter but instead makes my stomach flip-flop. Code makes Wolf eat this big old beetle that Wolf scarfs down without batting an eye, insisting it tastes like peanuts.
I intend to choose Code again when it comes back around to me, but for some reason I find myself picking Z instead.
“What’s my favorite movie?” he asks, and the way he widens his eyes in response to my eye narrowing makes me think that wasn’t his next question at all.
“Guys! Asking what your favorite movie is doesn’t count as an easy question!” I protest. “There are seven bajillion movies out there. How the heck am I supposed to know which one?”
“So what’s your answer?” Z bats his wide eyes at me.
“I don’t know.” I swivel to Code. “What was yours?”
“Nacho Libre.”
“Right, that stupid Nacho Libre one, then.” I thought Z would have a better question than Code. I don’t know what he’s going for here.
Z shakes his head. “Nope. It’s Your Name.”
My heart skips a beat. “As in the anime?” As in the anime I’ve watched approximately one dozen times?
“That’s the one.” He grabs the bowl of bugs, fishes out the biggest one, and holds it out to me. “Here you go.”
“Dude!” shouts Ben. “That’s nasty.”
“Let it be noted that I went easy on you,” Code points out, as if that’s a good thing.
I take the bug, letting it sit in the palm of my hand, then hold it out to the camera. Something about Z’s grin and raised eyebrows makes me think he knows that it’s exactly the one I was holding in the kitchen earlier. The one I was psyching myself up to eat, because the bigger the bug, the more interesting I seem, and the more viewers I get. In theory.
Maybe Z chose a question I would fail on purpose. Maybe his question wasn’t so bad after all.
The bug’s shiny black armor looks impenetrable, like it’s about to break my teeth. And it is thick, promising meaty insides. Unlike the ant I ate earlier, which simply tasted like salt, this one’s going to have a flavor beyond just its seasoning.
I hold the beetle close to my face. Its pointy head looks ready to stab me.
“Do it! Do it! Do it!” Noog chants, pounding the table along with his words.
“I’m going to barf,” Ben moans.
Why, exactly, am I doing this again?
Oh, right, for the viewers. That’s reason enough. So I plug my nose, open up, pop it in whole, and chew and chew and chew.
@LumberLegs: It’s a super-awesome night for a stroll by the water alone. So quiet. So spooooooooooky.
[1.1K likes]
@LumberLegs: MUTANT TREES BY THE WATER ARE EATING ME! HAAAALLLLLPPPPPPP!!!!!
[1.5K likes]
@LumberLegs: Survived the mutant trees. Need ice cream to celebrate my victory. Best ice cream places in downtown Toronto?
[1.2K likes]
@LumberLegs: Some LotSCONers found me! Check out this super-awesome dragonlord cosplay!
[1.4K likes]
Sixteen
Lainey
IT’S EASIER THAN I EXPECTED, CATCHING CODY’S BIGOTRY ON CAMERA.
I mean, at the same time it’s exactly what I expected, because that’s who Cody is, and it’s only gotten worse the last while as saying racist and other terrible things has become the new normal. I sprawl backward onto my bed with a sigh.
I gave up spending time with Legs to try to catch Cody on camera; I had to see whether my idea could work.
I have to admit that I hoped I’d discover I was all wrong about Cody, that if I was watching for them, the problematic things he says would turn out to be so rare and unusual that it’d be impossible to catch any on camera.
But it only took two hours. Another sigh pours out of me, like a boiling kettle releasing steam.
Cody doesn’t normally talk much about race, probably because our whole family is white and all his friends are white, and out of sight, out of mind, apparently. But he says things like that once in a blue moon. Last time, it was at Friday dinner at Mom’s house, and Cody and I got into a shouting match about it, until Mom kicked me out of the room for “turning a nice dinner into a political debate.” If I had my way, every dinner would be a political debate until those two finally got with the program.
I reach for the camera I dropped beside me on the bed and sit up. I scan through the videos, find the last one, then fast-forward through it, pausing until I find the spot, and play it back. Cody’s words are disappointingly clear. He really said that.
I shake my head. Cody, you’re giving me no choice.
I lie back down on the bed, thinking through my plans, until the door creaks and I sit up to see Willow striding into the room. I slip the camera into my sweater pocket, like it’s evidence I need to hide.
“Toothbrush. Need my toothbrush,” she says, hurrying into the bathroom. When she pokes her head out a minute later, her toothbrush is sticking out of her mouth and she’s foaming around the edges like a rabid dog. “Whadja doon uppear?” she asks through the foam.
I shrug. “Just checking my messages.”
Which reminds me: I log on to see my chat with Janessa. There are a few more messages from her, demanding to know why I told her to stay off social media, before she must have realized that I disappeared again. I scroll back to look at my very first message:
Hey Janessa, I’m probably the second-last person you want to talk to, but I need to know: Did my brother cross any lines with you or pressure you to do anything you didn’t want to? I . . . just needed to check.
That’s not so bad as a message, is it? I was nice about it.
And she said she was fine, and I’m sure she meant it. She’s one of those people who are always smiling, who might as well be one of those cheerleaders she’s always hanging out with. So no harm, no foul, right?
Except Legs said I shouldn’t have messaged her in the first place, just in case it did hurt her. Like it’s more about the principle of the thing. Is it wrong even if no one got hurt? Did I screw up? And if so, what the heck am I supposed to do about it?
I shove my phone away so I don’t have to think about it just as Willow emerges from the bathroom, teeth shiny-white and clean. Instead of leaving, she sits on the edge of her bed.
“How were the bugs?” I ask.
“I tried to imagine I was eating nuts on the top of a delicious banana split.”
“Did that work?”
She laughs and wipes her sleeve across her mouth. “Not in the slightest.”
I shake my head. “Why the heck did you do it, then?”
She shrugs. “It’s a tough world, YouTube. You can’t just post a half-decent gaming video once a week and expect to rake in the views. Besides, it was pretty neat working with the guys to plan the video. I haven’t done anything like that before. This whole trip’s been pretty incredible.”
For some reason, her comment about how hard it is makes me think of that guy today who sales-pitched his channel to me like he was desperate for every viewer. I get up and slip my fingers into my jeans pocket, and sure enough, the scrap of paper he wrote on is still there. I should drop it in the trash now, but something makes me keep it in my pocket, even though it’s destined to be forgotten about and put through the wash a few times before eventually turning to lint and getting caught in the dryer filter. Watching video gamers just isn’t my thing. Poor kid. I hope he finds his niche. At least he’s got some friends.
Willow pulls a ChapStick out of her purse and starts shining up her lips. And actually, her cheeks look pinker, too, like she freshened up her makeup in the bathroom. Like she’s got someone to impress.
Surely she’s no
t still all googly-eyed over Cody. She’s seen his bad side now; it was right in front of her eyes.
“Hey, Willow, you heard what he said, right?”
“What who said?”
“Cody. About Confurzzle.”
“Oh, yeah.” Her brow furrows with concern. “He didn’t mean it like that, did he? Did it just come out wrong?”
What the heck is with everyone assuming that people don’t mean what they say? If it walks like bigotry and talks like bigotry, maybe it really is bigotry! But I’m tired of trying to explain that to people. “Why don’t you figure that out for yourself?” I snap.
She frowns. “Oh, okay.” And then she returns to staring at herself in the bedroom mirror, trying to straighten one strand of her hair that’s developed a small wave when the rest of it is straight. As though she’s definitely still trying to impress. As though she’s already dismissed his comment as unimportant.
Maybe she’s as bad as he is. Maybe they deserve each other.
I glance at her to make sure she’s not watching, then Google her on my phone. ShadowWillow. Maybe she’s actually some alt-right leader. Do they have the alt-right in Canada?
The first thing that pops up is her YouTube channel, where her most-watched video is some tournament she did with Cody. Gross. And the comments are full of CodeWillow shippers. Double gross.
The video’s from only a few months ago, and yet it’s her most-watched video already, which is kind of weird, since she’s apparently had her channel for a few years.
Willow turns to me. “Do you think I should wear my The Adventure Zone shirt tomorrow or my Legends of the Stone shirt?”
The mention of my favorite podcast makes it hard to stay grumpy. I close the search window on my phone. “The Adventure Zone. Definitely.” I don’t actually think she’s an alt-right leader. Maybe she’s just in that infatuation stage with Cody where she won’t be able to see logic until she snaps out of it.
Her face lights up, her eyes twinkling with her own obvious love of the podcast. “Did you start listening to TAZ after Legs mentioned it in his videos?” she asks.
My heart twinges at the mention of Legs. I should go find him once we’re done talking. I shake my head. “No. I did start listening because Legs recommended it, but not in one of his videos. I mean, I’m sure he did mention it, but I don’t really watch them.”
Her eyes go wide at that, as if she’s an anime character. “You don’t watch Legs?! Who do you watch, then?”
I shrug. “No one.” I’ll watch the odd video Legs sends me, when it’s one he’s proud of, and it’s cool to see him in action, but watching other people play video games is not the sort of thing I do for fun on my own.
She stares at me for a long moment in silence, this difference in our interests stretching into an unbridgeable chasm between us.
But then she says, “You like TAZ, though?” and I say, “I don’t like TAZ, I adore TAZ,” and then we’re talking for five minutes about our favorite story arcs and characters and about how I didn’t think I’d like it because three brothers and their dad playing D&D and other games doesn’t sound like my kind of thing, but how Legs made me promise to listen to at least seven episodes before giving up on it, and by then I was hooked.
“Are you guys dating?” she asks suddenly. “You and Legs?”
And she’s so easy to talk to that I almost tell her the truth. I almost tell her that no, we’re not, but I want us to be, except how are we supposed to date if we can’t see eye to eye on the important stuff?
But the fact is that though she might be easy to talk to, I still barely know her, so instead I simply say, “No.”
“Do you want to be?” she asks, all hush-hush and giddy like we’re BFFs gossiping. When I narrow my eyes at her, her cheeks—no, her whole neck—flushes pink. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I go all baby skunk and say things I shouldn’t sometimes.”
“Baby skunks can talk?”
She laughs at that, and the awkwardness between us falls away—for now. I’ve never figured out how to have conversations with people that run smoothly, like a car on a highway on cruise control. It’s more like being in a jam-packed rush hour, with stops and stalls and sudden lane changes and people honking at each other in frustration.
Willow leans over and pulls a shirt out of her bag. “I should probably go with Legends of the Stone tomorrow, though. Since it is LotSCON and all. I don’t want to confuse people.”
“Who cares! You do you. It’s just a signing.”
“Yeah, but it’s my first ever signing. So I care.”
Now it’s my turn to wordlessly blink at her. “How is it possibly your first signing?” I ask at last. “You have hundreds of thousands of YouTube followers.”
She scrunches her lips up, then says, “Most of those are recent. Like in the past few months.”
The past few months. Things start clicking into place in my brain. “Like since your video with Cody?”
A little crease appears between her eyebrows. “I mean, it’s not like I didn’t have subscribers before that. I worked hard to build up my channel. But yeah, that helped. A lot.”
“You must have been pretty stoked when he invited you this weekend then.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t you be?”
I tap my phone against my palm. So she doesn’t care about Cody, she only wants his subscribers. Which I couldn’t care less about, except that it means she’s not all blind from lovesickness after all. She should be able to see right through him.
And ignoring Cody’s bigotry because she’s clueless and lovesick is one thing, but ignoring it because she wants his subscribers is a million times worse. It’s a choice.
I hop to my feet as the chasm spreads between us again. “I’m going to find Legs,” I say, and I’m surprised to hear the words come out normal instead of echoing across the great divide between us.
Though the chasm must be doing something, because her response doesn’t make it across the space between us before I’m gone.
At the bottom of the stairs, I run into Cody. He’s got another beer in his hand. Earlier, I hoped he’d get drunk so there’d be a greater chance of him saying something I might catch on camera. Now, I wish he’d switch to root beer.
“Willow upstairs?” he asks. He leans against the banister like he’s super chill, but his hopeful gaze slides upward.
My heart twists for him. I think he might actually like her. And while maybe the only way I can help him become a better person is by outing him as a bigot to his viewers, here I can help him simply by telling him the truth. Or at least what I suspect is the truth.
“Cody, I think she’s using you.”
His gaze darts back down to me. “Of course she is.” There’s no alarm in his face; he’s still leaning against the banister, relaxed.
“You knew that?”
He sets his beer down on the railing post. “She wants subscribers, and how else is she supposed to get them? Girls don’t make it to the top.”
I stare at him. I want to believe that his words are a profound commentary on the misogynistic state of the gaming world, and a pledge to help talented, hilarious female gamers break through that glass ceiling. That’s not what he means, though. It’s never what he means.
I’d call him out on it, but I’d rather not be filled with a desire to punch my own brother in the face. Again. “So it doesn’t bother you?” I ask instead.
“It’s what the viewers want.” He takes a sip of his beer before adding, “And besides, she’s hot.”
Which is quite enough Cody for me, thank you very much. “I’m going out,” I say, and then I slip past him, grab my coat, and walk out the front door.
Out on the porch, the cold night air prickles against my skin. I wrap my coat tightly around me, sit on the porch step, and pull out my phone. I text Legs: Done with vlogging. Want to hang out?
It suddenly occurs to me that he could be back at his hotel room in a depressive early sleep, or out somew
here where he won’t think to look at his phone.
Before I can properly start to wonder what I’ll do in that case, his reply text comes in: Sure. You still at the Manor? I’m not far. I’ll be there in ten.
Great, I reply. I could ask him where he is and meet him halfway, but it’d probably take half that time just to coordinate, and besides, walking around Toronto by myself on a sunny Saturday morning is one thing; walking around Toronto by myself in the dark is another.
While I wait, I pull up Legs’s social media. Apparently he’s been having a grand adventure chilling with mutant trees and eating ice cream. There’s a picture of him in the middle of a group of fans, and he’s grinning ear to ear, and for a moment I’m filled with the most intense FOMO of my life.
But then I remember what he’s going through, and I zoom in on the picture, and sure enough, he’s wearing his fake grin, the one that doesn’t reach his eyes. He probably wanted a quiet walk alone, and instead he got fans and smiling for photos and telling people they’re awesome.
My FOMO slips away, replaced by guilt. Maybe I should have gone with him, but I had to see whether my idea had any chance of working. And now that I know it does, I really should be in the house, trying to get more video, but there’ll be plenty of time for that tomorrow. For now, I’m going to do what I want, and what I want is to spend time with Legs.
I always want to spend time with Legs. Though I’m not looking forward to explaining to him my plan.
I look up then, and there he is only half a block away. I hesitate for only a moment before hopping up, slipping my phone into my pocket, and striding to meet him.
“Hey,” he says when I’m a few feet away. His cheeks and nose are windy pink in the edge of the light of the streetlamp.
“Hey. Looks like you were having quite the adventure.”
“Adventure?” He steps into the streetlamp’s full light, and it illuminates his whole face—the real one, not the one he wears for fans. As he studies me, his eyebrows are relaxed, his jawline soft, his mouth curving naturally down at the edges. He’s not trying to look happy or excited or anything at all. He’s just himself.
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