Deadwave

by Michael Evans

  “Man, there’s no way you understand how awesome that was. I wanted some cotton candy and hot chocolate so I could throw it in the air when you won.” He motions with his arms in the air. He always has the tendency to overdramatize everything—it’s almost as if he thinks his entire life is a reality show. Maybe one day it will be. “Especially when Riva came to save you, like some sort of freaking angel.”

  “I think you’re forgetting I was there too.” I laugh. “I was the one who experienced all of that firsthand. Trust me, I know what you are talking about.”

  “Duh, of course I know you were there.” He follows me into my dressing room without even asking if he can come in (somehow when Jake does these things, it’s more endearing than rude), this stadium actually having a real dressing room with a couch, a large mirror, a bathroom, and even a holographic projector. “It’s so different watching it, man. To see the look on your face when you were talking to Riva. Oh, it was so cute!”

  “Oh, please.” I sit down and sigh, my legs finally resting once my butt gets to sink into the soft cushion of the ugly couch covered in flowery fabric. “We were in the middle of a game of Deadwave and I killed her. My mind didn’t even go there.”

  “Hmm, okay.” Jake narrows his eyes at me as I strip down to my boxers (nothing he hasn’t seen before) and wipe the sweat on my body off with a warm towel, while applying a fresh layer of deodorant. I notice my hologlasses buzz on the table next to the couch. “Check your messages. Tell me what you think.”

  I slip on my gray plaid shirt and reach over, still in my boxers, to put on my hologlasses. It feels weird not having their soft grip on the bridge of my nose, but the second I glance at my notifications, I wish I had kept them off.

  There are dozens of pictures that I’m tagged in on My Hive, the most popular social media site, all of them memes making fun of me talking with Riva. The pictures range from lewd comments about my eye glances, to brutal remarks about me pushing her off the building in the end.

  “Wow.” Although I never care what anyone thinks about me—I’ll always be my own harshest critic—somehow seeing those things online still hurts and angers me. But I have to admit, some of them are really funny too. “I would say that surprises me, but honestly that’s nothing new. People always find a way to make a meme out of life.”

  “Oh, c’mon, you can’t dismiss all this as one big joke.” He sits down backwards on the rolling chair, his demeanor resembling a middle-school girl’s. “We all know that if given the opportunity, you would go on a date with her.”

  “Well, obviously. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

  “Well, why don’t you go for it, then?”

  “What are you talking about?” I stand up so that I can put on my jeans. They are tight enough to where they don’t sag without me wearing a belt, and that is a good enough excuse for me not to wear one.

  “Why don’t you ask her to go to dinner with you, like tonight?” His tone shifts to be more serious, after cutting out his dramatic act. “We are in downtown London, for goodness’ sake, there’s so much you could do. You guys can both celebrate your victory together. I mean, you both really did win together, that was amazing.”

  “Oh.” I laugh, the idea of me going on a date with someone like Riva seeming preposterous. I know where my lane is at. And people like me, they don’t ever end up with people like her. In fact, the entire male species is probably a league or two below her, which means I’m a solid five or six beneath her. “There’s no way she would say yes. I’m sure she’s tired and looking forward to her flight back home. Plus, I’m tired too, and tomorrow was supposed to be our big day to go to the abandoned Spiders World theme park.”

  “Okay, Sam, normally I would give up now because most days, your outfit is absolutely atrocious.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t act like we haven’t talked about this.” He rolls his eyes. “As your manager, that also makes me your fashion coordinator or whatever it’s officially called. Either way, your fashion is garbage. But today,” he pauses and points at my white skater sneakers and dark blue jeans. “For once you look like you didn’t just roll out of bed, and for you that happens once in a blue moon. You look fly, my dude. Trust me, you got this.”

  “You know what?” I shake my head, hating myself for listening and actually agreeing with Sam, but this time I can’t help myself. “I’ll ask. I’ll do it right now. You’re right, it can’t hurt to try.”

  “Aye, that’s my boy!” He springs from his chair to dab me up before I leave. “You should always listen to me. I’m your manager, after all—I always know what’s best.”

  “Ha.” I turn away from him to walk towards the dressing room door. “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

  And at those words, and a final sassy sigh from Jake, I leave the room to go meet my fate. If I am rejected, it’s all good. I’m used to the feeling of my heart racing with excitement for about half a second until it instantly crashes back down to its normal state as I realize that I’m in the process of being denied. But this time, as with almost every other time, I have nothing to lose, especially now. Odds are I won’t even be on the tour next year, if I am still alive at the end of the next thirty days, and even if I am, there’s almost no chance Riva and I will be teaming up like that again (that would be my fault).

  I walk down the carpeted hallway that runs behind the stage and knock on her door. My knuckles tap against the door so softly at first, that I have to tap again to make the vibrations audible. Within a few seconds she opens the door, her white skirt and fuzzy sweater standing out instantly. She looks stunning, which is exactly the kind of thing I am supposed to tell her the second she opened the door, but instead I cut right to the chase, the words flowing out of me before I can even bite my tongue.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, of course.” She steps forward a bit so that half her body is outside of her dressing room door. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Oh, well then, would you like to grab something to eat with me?” I do a mini fist pump in my head after saying that sentence in its entirety without any stutters.

  “Uh, yeah, I’m starving. Let’s do it.”

  “Oh, great—cool.” I brush a hand through my hair, trying not to seem shocked. “I mean, yeah, that should work for me too.”

  “You were the one who asked. Of course it works for you.” She laughs. I can tell Riva is one of those people who is always half-sarcastic, half-serious, and it’s those kinds of jokes that really make my mind twist itself. “And you sure do seem surprised that I said yes.”

  “Not surprised at all.”

  “Ah, so you’re saying you go out to dinner with girls like me all the time, then.”

  “I’m saying I’m so used to eating dinner alone, that I allow nothing to surprise me anymore.”

  “Well, let’s change that.”

  “Yes.” That is the only word I manage to say to her in response.

  And before I can dig my hole any deeper by saying something more awkward, she motions for me to follow her. And just like that I am off with the last girl I’d ever dream of wanting to eat dinner with me to a place that I’m not sure either of us knows yet.

  Life is crazy. But it can be a good crazy too.

  Chapter 12

  Things are going oddly well, and I only say oddly because I didn’t expect things to go well at all.

  But I was wrong.

  Riva picked the perfect place to eat at: a Japanese restaurant with an all-you-can-eat sushi bar.

  If that sounds like heaven, then your thoughts probably aren’t far off. Somehow, she knew the address of the place and its name without even using the Internet. She claims she got a message from one of her fans saying that she should go here, and the first few minutes of us in the restaurant consist of the waitress, who recommended the place, absolutely losing her mind at the sight of us (I’m just telling myself it was us; in reality she only cared about
seeing Riva).

  The way Riva handles the scene of people storming towards her asking for an autograph is effortless. I have never been one to like the spotlight or enjoy strangers walking up to me on the side of the street, and lucky for me, that almost never happens. But for Riva, being barraged by a legion of teenage girls and having an army of teenage boys peering at her from afar, too embarrassed to get close, is an everyday occurrence. Yet I can tell every time it happens, it makes her day. She knows the kind of icon she represents for kids and even adults all over the world; she knows that she can inspire people by being the only girl on the Deadwave World Tour absolutely crushing it in what is supposed to be a man’s world. Heck, she even inspires me too—to beat her. Most of the time I fail.

  “This was a great choice, Riva.” I push my plate away from me after having at least two dozen pieces. “You must have known sushi is my favorite.”

  “No, I didn’t know.” She places her fork down, her mouth still half full. “Sushi is my dad’s favorite too. Oh, he would love to be here.” She sighs, a sad expression appearing on her face. Her eyes wander down to her empty plate below, as if the rings engraved into the melamine somehow hold the memories she is looking at.

  “I don’t even know what food my dad likes.” I laugh, one of those laughs when you don’t feel like looking sad and don’t know what to do. The realization hit me that I know almost nothing about my dad besides the fact that he works almost every waking hour. After tonight, I’ll most likely know Riva better than I do my own father. “Maybe he likes Mexican food, or maybe a good cheeseburger—it could be anything.”

  “I know every fun fact about my dad. Before the accident, he and I were so close.” She pauses and there’s a look in her eyes that cautions me not to ask her what she is referencing. “My mom always tended to put too much pressure on me, telling me to keep my grades up and do things that a real woman would. My dad always accepted me for who I was, though. In many respects, I was and still am a tomboy who wants to play with the boys and bury their heads in the sand.” She laughs. “Okay, that sounds way too maniacal. I love Deadwave, a violent game with zombies that seems to be made for men. But I guess I’m just a girl who fell in love with the game too, and who wants to win just as badly as everyone else. My mom never understood that—it’s why I don’t talk to her much today. But my dad always supports me.”

  “I have a very similar thing with my own parents.” I sigh, my mind flashing back to all the screaming matches that ensued over the years. “My dad wanted me to follow his own path and go to Stanford and major in business or engineering and work for Chimera. If I don’t somehow win the World Championship, he will think I’m worthless and never allow me to work for him. My mom always wanted me to go for my passions, though. She always understood that life is more than the black and white world my dad makes it out to be. And coming from a family where I have been given a lot of opportunity and connections, my dad feels I am somehow saying I am better than all of it by not choosing to head down that path. What he doesn’t realize is that I want to do something that he can’t touch. He already has tried to control everything else in my life.”

  Riva nods her head in agreement with me the entire time I speak. I think we are getting somewhere, and I have no clue where we are headed, but I like whatever it is, whatever that feeling in my gut is that gets all warm and fuzzy and stops looking at life strictly in terms of facts and numbers.

  “My mom is the same way,” she responds. “She doesn’t think this will last longer than five years and wanted me to get my degree and a stable career so that I don’t have to end up working endlessly on a bunch of odd service jobs like she does.”

  “Here’s your check.” The waitress who has been serving us the entire night swoops by, swiftly clearing both our plates as I am about to talk. However, her words interrupt my thoughts, and whatever I want to say next flees my mind. “You are welcome to check out on your way out. I hope you both have a wonderful night.” She smiles, the kind that looks effortless and not like she has to try to look happy, like most people.

  “Thank you.” I grab the check before Riva even tries to. “You as well.”

  “We are splitting that check,” Riva says after the waitress leaves.

  “Hmmm, I don’t think so.” I grin at her.

  “Um, yes. I know so. They will easily let us split it when we both scan our fingerprints at the checkout station.”

  “I’m aware of that. But I asked you to dinner tonight, and I wouldn’t have asked if I weren’t more than happy to pay for you.”

  “Out of principle,” she says, her face tensing up. “Let me do this. I’m being very serious.” She narrows her eyebrows at me in the cutest way, and somehow that one motion expresses a thousand words.

  “Okay, fine.” I sigh dramatically, pretending as if it is a big deal, although to the both of us this kind of money is far from it. Right now we are enjoying the last years of comfort before everything inevitably comes crashing down—everyone is waiting for the world to devolve into chaos. Things can’t continue on like this for much longer. Wealth inequality is past the point of crisis levels, our environment is beyond the point of no return, and the world’s governments are swiftly switching from democratic to more authoritarian regimes. “Do you wanna go now or hang here for a little while?”

  “Let’s go. I’m kind of eager to check out the city.” She stands up, grabbing her fuzzy sweater which looks so comfortable that if it were socially acceptable, I would definitely wear. “The night is still young.”

  We both walk to the front of the restaurant and close out our tab, easily paying and applying a tip just with the will of our fingertips. Then we exit the warm, stuffy restaurant and enter the chilly, thin air of London.

  “It feels good out here.” Riva sighs, which I’m not keeping count but has to be the dozenth time tonight.

  “Yes, it does.” I look up at the night sky above, every star in it either blocked by the light pollution or clouds. “What a change from SoCal.”

  “This is the change I needed.” She takes the lead, heading down the sidewalk, and I gladly follow. “I love my life most of the time, but I need a break from it for a little bit.”

  “I hear ya.” I look around, my eyes naturally scanning my surroundings to discern every detail. Some parts of my brain I can never turn off. “Especially after this last week. I can certainly use an off day.”

  “Me too!” Riva’s voice echoes in my ear. She moves her hands emphatically when she talks, almost as dramatic as me, except she is being serious. “Ugh, yes. That sounds great right about now. Playing Deadwave day in and day out is awesome, but very exhausting.”

  Her last words barely escape from her lips, the dark circles underneath her eyes seeming to suck the energy out of her. A beautiful silence follows her words, the kind where you can drift off into your thoughts, yet also be acutely aware in the moment. I take the opportunity to take in the West London neighborhood.

  Midnight is about to strike, the city streets in that odd phase where they aren’t completely empty but the sidewalks that are normally bustling with people have plenty of space to walk around. The shops across the street have metal grates over their windows and the neon in their signs is all but gone. We are on yet another city block that is being swallowed alive by debt and a lack of customers. Not enough people have jobs to pay to go out to eat or to shop or to do much of anything. The only corporations that are surviving are the handful of multinational companies that are able to secure government contracts and have the capital to create a vast labor force of robots and artificial intelligence that is prepared to provide goods to consumers at deep discounts, making it impossible for any small business to compete with them.

  Seeing city streets like this and being reminded of the world outside of my insulated bubble of Deadwave always makes me sad and angry. The cracked sidewalks and pavement, the fading color of the bricks on the buildings, and the air that feels dirty to breathe in are all sign
s of the world that is slowly falling apart.

  And I don’t know what to do to fix it, no one does. So most of the time I feel guilty. Guilty that I haven’t ever been able to do anything to help the billions of people on the wrong end of an unsustainable global economy on the brink of destruction, guilty that I have enjoyed a lifestyle most could never dream of, and ashamed that I’ll never feel as if I’m worth any of it.

  But the feeling of shame that overcomes me fades the second my eyes connect with three dark figures hiding underneath the awning of a foreclosed pawnshop, their eyes trained on Riva and me.

  I try to follow Riva as she continues walking down the sidewalk, headed towards a three-hundred-year-old Anglican church she mentioned at dinner, but something inside me snaps.

  My legs freeze, and a surge of anger courses through me.

  I’m not sure who these people are, or even if they are the same people that were at the game earlier, but I don’t care. Whether they are connected to the people who kidnapped me a week earlier or not doesn’t matter. I can’t let this keep going on. I can’t keep feeling like my world is about to end when I’m right about to be on top. And I have a feeling deep inside my gut, which is screaming that these people mean me harm.

  “What are you doing?” Riva stops mid-gait, shooting me a bewildered look.

  “You should go.” I keep my voice low, which doesn’t help to ease the creepiness from the situation.

  “What is going on?”

  “I have business to take care of.” I narrow my eyes at the people across the street, who have now surely recognized that I notice them too.

  “Uh.” She glances around, startled. There are enough people hanging out on the street where our situation won’t raise an alarm, but there will be enough witnesses if anything serious goes down. “Sam. This is not cool.” She steps forward and grabs my arm. “You’re not leaving me alone like this. What is happening?”