I got home at 6:37, the regular time, thirty-seven minutes after track practice ended, having stopped and wet my hair at a charge station bathroom to make it look like I’d showered. Dad was just pulling in with his autonomous car at the same time as I was closing the door to my manual, so I went over and shot the shit with him about how the A’s were doing.
“Extra innings last night, huh?” I asked.
“Yeah, it was a line drive that snaked right through Evans and Miranda to end it. I shouldn’t have stayed up, though. Even with six cups of coffee, I was fighting to keep my eyes open at work.” He made a face like he’d gotten away with something, even though there wasn’t really anything he could do to get fired from his cushy job with Public Infrastructure. “But I didn’t hear anything on in your room.”
“I had to go to bed. Big test today in nano sci.”
“I probably wouldn’t be a very responsible dad if I joked about your lack of loyalty to a sport where teams play one hundred sixty-two games a season. Especially after giving you a hard time about your grades and piano.”
I forced a smile. “Probably not.”
“The A’s do need you, though. Just give ‘em what you can, alright?” He raised his eyebrows. “Doesn’t have to be much.”
“Alright,” I answered, softened by his fanboy enthusiasm. It reminded me of when I was eight and how close to my parents I used to be. How safe I’d felt around them and how they’d always taken me to get space ice when I’d gotten sick or bandaged up busted knees or told me it wasn’t the end of the world when I’d lost my retainer. And now when I needed them more than anything they couldn’t help me. They were right there. My dad was right in front of me, babbling on about Marcus Deprey’s falling batting average, but there was nothing he could do.
“You know what I’m saying?”
I nodded.
“And it’s not just this year, either. I think Madrigal’s problem is that there’s more to being GM than making good trades. You gotta make the trades work. You gotta create an atmosphere where people want to show up. Right?”
“Right, Dad,” I answered, but it was half-hearted as my mind had wandered back to Jaden and Mr. Bosworth and whether the PetPerspective install had worked. Sometimes the animal’s body rejected the implants. Sometimes the Wi-Fi didn’t connect. The lenses were supposed to match the original eye color, but occasionally they could be off a little. What if they had been and Jaden noticed?
Dad seemed to sense my consternation because the next thing he said was, “We should go to a game. Get your mind off things. You said ‘no’ enough that I stopped asking, but I’d take you in a second if you wanted.”
“I know you would, Dad.” I liked the idea of going in some other universe, but there were so many caps and restrictions on what Revisions MLB players could do that it was all kind of a farce now. You had Revised twelve-year-olds who could throw faster.
“I can understand liking different things as you get older, but I’m worried about you. I miss seeing you happy.”
“I miss it, too, Dad,” I blurted. I hadn’t meant to say it, but I’d lied so much lately that saying something true felt good. Even if it hurt. Even it made Dad worry. He should be worried about me. But I snapped out of it just as quickly, trying to sound as carefree and sanguine as I could. “I’m just a little anxious about PLACEs now. And doing well at the science fair. I’ve got it all under control and everything, but these could be pretty big things for me.”
“We’ll still love you whatever happens.”
“I know. I’m just not sure I will.” I saw the look on his face and immediately followed it with, “Joking. Joking. I’ll be fine. You’ll see. And we can go to a game afterwards. That is, if the offer’s still good.”
“It’ll always be good.”
“Even if they trade away Kez Demico?”
Kez Demico was by far my dad’s favorite player. He was one of those rare guys who didn’t really start to excel until nine or ten years into the league. And even though he was pushing forty he was refusing to age out.
“Well, maybe not then,” said Dad, his face lighting up again. “But regardless of his on-base percentage, he’s the hometown hero. He sells tickets: they won’t trade him.”
This was probably true. I used to think Dad was a baseball genius, until I was eleven or twelve and started reading the same baseball blogs as him; that’s when I realized his arguments amounted to wholesale plagiarism of whatever the narrative of the day was about this team or that player. But he did tend to follow the best analysts. “I hope you’re right,” I said as I gave him a pat on the shoulder and walked through the garage, unable to keep from seeing how Mr. Bosworth was doing any longer.
I stepped inside and took off my shoes. He wasn’t in the mud room or the laundry room. In the kitchen, mom was stirring a pot and Mr. Jefferson was next to her chopping onions and tomatoes on a large cutting board. “Hey Dorian, how was your day?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.
“Good,” I said, trying to conjure up a believable sounding tone. I wasn’t worried about them finding out I left school because parents weren’t called if you were an upperclassman and I hardly ever saw Jaden in the hallway but, still, better to keep it as normal as I could. “Mrs. Kreshawa isn’t going to know what hit her when she reads my social studies essay on the Franco Prussian War. Those Europeans sure loved playing dress up and shooting each other.”
“At least now we’re evolved enough to live lives of quiet desperation.” It was Jaden’s voice. The wall with the range and microwave alongside blocked my view from the kitchen, but he must’ve been sitting at the dining room table.
“Jaden,” said Mom, turning in his direction. “We’re going to eat in a few minutes. I don’t want you filling up on cereal.”
I set my bag down beside the china cabinet, acknowledging Jaden but mostly looking behind him, scanning the room for Mr. Bosworth. I had left him in one of his favorite spots in the basement—the old vinyl couch that got direct sunlight late in the afternoon, entering through the small, slanted windows above the bookcase. Mr. Jefferson’s awkward legs precluded the possibility of unassisted basement travel, making it the one place in the house he didn’t have access to.
“Yeah, Jaden, you don’t want to get fat. But it’s probably just a matter of time, since you always come out and grab a bowl right before bed.”
“Do I look fat to you?” asked Jaden, lifting up his shirt to show his six-pack.
I smiled, trying to assume our usual, jocular banter. “Give it a few years.”
“Actually, not eating before bedtime is a myth,” said Mr. Jefferson.
“If only he gave out fashion advice, too,” I said. “You could up your Gemsword cosplay game.”
“Funny you should mention it,” said Mr. Jefferson. “There’s actually a brand new customizable style module available for purchase from GT Auto in partnership with Mika Lukas, an award-winning Austrian fashion prodigy—”
Jaden held up his hand. “Ah, ah. We got it, Mr. Jeff. You’re upgradable. You’re barking up the wrong tree, though.”
“There’s an installment plan with the low interest rate of—”
“Ah-ah-ah,” snapped Jaden. And then turning to us, “Sorry, he’s a little too heavy on the hard sell still, especially in this intimate living room setting, but you gotta admire the hustle. A man after my own heart.” He put his hand on Mr. Jefferson’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you what, Mr. J; ten percent of the LePardues’ account can go to your upgrade fund.”
The buddy bot’s eyes seemed to get larger and moist. “That’s generous of you, Jaden, but at that rate it’ll be three years before I get the add-on.”
“‘Good things come to those who wait.’ That’s a good piece of human wisdom for you. And then there’s, ‘A penny saved is a penny earned,’ from good ole Bennie F. ‘Slowly but surely wins the race.’ Uh, what else?”
“‘Trees that are slow to grow bear the best fruit,’” said Mr. Jeffers
on. “‘And I am extraordinarily patient, provided I get my own way in the end.’”
“Ah-hah, now you’re getting it. And quoting Thatcher, too, you saucy boy.”
“‘The strongest of all warriors are these two—Time and Patience.’” Mr. Jefferson paused for a moment and began again, “‘Trying to understand is like straining through muddy water. Have the patience to wait. Be still and allow the mud to settle.’ And ‘All human errors are impatience, a premature breaking off of methodical procedure, an apparent fencing-in of what is apparently at issue.’”
“Okay, okay, now you’re just showing off. We get it, you’ve got a quote dictionary,” said Jaden, dumping the last few drops of an empty milk carton into his bowl. “But what would really impress me is if you could grab me another one of these from the fridge.”
“One percent or two?” asked Mr. Jefferson.
“Dealer’s choice.” Then tilting toward Mom, Jaden asked, “So mother, how’s that new boss working out for you? Lindi . . . Lindi Jar something.”
“Jarvis. Yeah. She’s not really a boss, though. She’s more of the boss’s assistant.”
“An assistant?” asked Jaden. “To Mr. Porter?”
“Yeah.”
“But you were telling me that she was having you organize the volunteers for the Needle Return Drive and line up all the media partners . . . when that sounds like it’s her job.”
“It is, but it’s only her third month there.”
“Okay,” Jaden said slowly. “At least Mr. Porter’ll appreciate that you’re helping her settle in.”
Mom paused. “Well, maybe. But Lindi wanted to keep that between us so people wouldn’t get distracted by something outside of their lane.”
Jaden gave an exaggerated look of surprise. “Really? That’s kind of odd considering she’s the one who brought you into her lane.”
“Well yeah . . . yeah.”
“How much other work have you been doing for her?”
“Oh, just little things. She was having some trouble with the usage reports and coordinating with the other agencies.”
“Mom . . . she’s taking advantage of you. You know that, don’t you? And not only is she not giving you credit, she’s probably telling Mr. Porter you’re not pulling your weight. You said yourself that you and Mr. Porter haven’t been talking much lately.”
A tinge of anger shot through me. He was probably right about this Lindi lady, but with Ethan and Spencer and now Mom it seemed Jaden was trying to get close to the people I was closest with. Surround me. It’d be one thing if he was just a friendly, helpful guy. But he wasn’t.
“Yeah, but . . .” started Mom.
“Talk to Mr. Porter. Let him know what’s going on. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I just don’t want to see you get steamrolled. You’re too nice, Mom. Too nice for your own good.”
“That’s certainly not something you inherited, Jaden,” I said, trying to smile good-naturedly.
“No, but I am fair. Not the most popular trait, but probably more important.”
“Like when you cheat on your math tests by putting a second film on.”
Jaden shook his head. “I don’t do that anymore.”
“Jaden, you’ve cheated on your math tests?” asked Mom.
He looked annoyed. “Mom, everyone does it. And Dorian gets his English essays off the link, so he’s hardly one to talk.”
“I get ideas, but copying would be stupid since the matching algorithms would instantly catch it.”
“Hey, you two,” said Mom. “You know I don’t like it when you fight.”
“Mom, this isn’t fighting.”
“Yeah, Mom. We can show you fighting,” I said, walking up and putting my arm around Jaden, half hug, half headlock. It felt so weird knowing what I knew, but I had to do it. I had to make sure he didn’t think I was on to him. He took a bite of cereal.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Maybe some friendly competition, though,” said Jaden, looking up at me. “I was mulling over throwing my hat in the science fair ring, too, Mom. If I did, would you be as nice to me and let me disappear for hours anytime I want?”
“I’m equally nice to both my boys.” Mom stopped stirring and walked over to the spice rack. “How’s that project going anyway, Dorian? I haven’t heard you talk about it for a while.”
“Yeah, me neither,” said Jaden.
“It’s almost done,” I said, letting Jaden’s remark go. “I could you show now, but I’d rather not spoil the surprise.”
As soon as dinner was over I went straight to my room to install the PetPerspective software and within five minutes I was watching Mr. Bosworth lick his right forepaw. It was his exact field of vision, just with the lens’ enhanced visual acuity and saturation, augmenting the low amount of cone photoreceptor cells in the middle of his retinas. Some opted to have it straight up with the high rod cell, low cone cell vision that cats actually have, but I needed the highest res possible.
Keeping Mr. Bosworth’s window open, I went through Syd’s footage and about thirty minutes later Jaden scooped up the cat like he did most nights and brought him back into his room. Mr. Jefferson was already in there, observing, “There’s a pretty kitty” as Jaden set him down on the bed next to him.
“Aiight, now that my cheering section’s assembled we can roll out.”
“What kind of map will you be playing on tonight, Jaden?”
“Urban, I think. Or bombed-out post-urban. The kind of robo-apocalypse we’ll have once you guys are smart enough to realize you’re running the show.”
“We would never do that, Jaden,” said Mr. Jefferson in a monotone.
“But that’s tomorrow’s headache. Tonight, you’ll just need to reconcile precipitation and wind speed with ballistics for scope optimization. Piece of cake, right?” asked Jaden as he slipped into the black and red-streaked haptic suit he’d begged Mom and Dad to get him for his birthday.
“Piece of cake, Jaden. Are you anticipating inclement weather?”
“Yeah, since Theta Red’s picking it. They’re a bunch of Scots who like it a messy.”
Because Mr. Bosworth was facing the opposite wall, I could only hear Jaden’s voice and was worried that I’d miss him type in his password. But fortunately, as soon as he fired up the workstation, Mr. Bosworth trundled over and jumped on the keyboard, allowing me to catch the last twenty-eight keystrokes before Jaden threw him off.
I rewound the footage and played it back at 5% speed, keeping a real-time window of Mr. Bosworth’s feed up in the right corner of the screen. There were three clicks I didn’t see before Jaden typed restheokoshcocoaLaura4102, his favorite phrase from Planetary Imaginary with a made-up word in the middle and his birthday backwards on the end.
“Do you want the blue or the red keyboard today, Mr. J?”
“Jaden, you know you changed my favorite color to red last week.”
“Ah, that’s right,” he chuckled. “Well, let me know if you want me to change it back.”
“Why would I want to change the color away from my favorite?”
Mr. Bosworth made another attempt to jump back on the desk, looking at the screen long enough for me to see that Counter-Insurgency 5 had almost finished loading before Jaden brushed him off a second time. After a third attempt he settled down on the bed next to Mr. Jefferson.
“Alright, you ladies ready to a run a train on these assholes?”
It took me a few moments to realize Jaden wasn’t talking to Mr. Jefferson anymore but his remote teammates.
“How are we going to a run a train if we’re all ladies?”
“With strap-ons, dickhead. You can borrow yours from your sister, Danny. Or your dad’s new girlfriend’s. I think it’s right next to her Monistat 7.”
“Goddammit. You’re lucky you’re so good or else there’s no way you could get away with being such a little cunt.”
“You’re managing to get away with it witho
ut being any good, Tomlins,” replied Jaden.
“About as well as—”
The voices disappeared as Jaden routed the sound from the speakers into his bug and leaned back in his ergonomic chair. “Alright, enough chit-chat, maps up. Check your inventories. See if we’ve got any good combos going like C7/tripwire or sarine/gas masks. And Keppler, Jesus, I don’t want you sitting on anything anymore. Not even By-Ties. If it’s in your friggin’ bag, you friggin’ log it. Aiight, son?”
There was a pause while he listened.
“You let me decide what’s relevant to onboard. You’re here for your reflexes, I’m here for everything else. Got it?”
Christ, what a bully. I knew he was uncouth and joked around a lot, but I was so used to him being courteous and respectful to anyone he thought could help him—me included—that I’d lost track of who he really was. That wasn’t him. That was him trying to get what he wanted. This was him when he already had it. When he had his team stacked with people who mistook this snarky arrogance for strength.
Almost a full minute went by with Jaden silent. From Mr. Bosworth’s occasional glances around the room, it looked like the screen was being projected directly to Mr. Jefferson’s CPU since he wasn’t bothering to watch Jaden’s roll screen as he typed on the keyboard.
“You’re never going to win with that attitude, Meyer,” said Jaden. “I know they’ve got big numbers on us, but that just means they’ll play not-to-lose.”
It was silent for a few moments.
“You’d do the same thing, wouldn’t you? So why not just let ’em fucking trap us? We’ll make a big stink of it, but you, Tomo, and Mark’ll retreat into that building there. See the one with the sheet coming off the side? And we’ll let ’em take up in those adjacent office towers.”
There was another short pause.
“Just hear me out. Hear me out, bud. Because when they do, the rest of us will be in these here . . .” Mr. Bosworth was looking at the screen and I saw three buildings on the display turn from grey to green. “Which all have great angles on their roofs. We’ll cut ’em to ribbons. You guys defending just have to make enough noise and get enough shots off to make it look like we’re all holed up in there. Don’t worry about your kills, just shoot, okay? That’s all you have to do.”
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