The Book of Things to Come (Hand of Adonai Series 1)

by Aaron Gansky

  She wondered what month they’d made the grilled cheese sandwich. It looked, amazingly enough, soggy and crunchy at the same time. And the cheese hardly melted. American cheese, to top it off, which struck Lauren as neither cheese nor American. It didn’t look like cheese, smell like cheese, and sure didn’t taste like cheese. She’d do better to not eat, which is exactly what she did.

  Oliver, however, finished his sandwich in a few bites. He washed it down with skim milk and eyed Lauren’s plate.

  “Help yourself.”

  “You need to eat,” he said.

  “I’ll eat when I get home. Trust me. That sandwich looks like a relic from the Civil War.”

  “You sure it’s not because … you know.”

  She’d been eating less and less since her weight went up a couple years ago. The doctor told her to make sure she kept eating as normal—the weight gain had little to do with her caloric intake and more to do with her thyroid. But he’d also warned her not to overeat. Even if she didn’t eat, her weight would likely stay the same, maybe even increase. She just needed to be patient while they tried different doses of different drugs to find the right medication. She looked again at the pills in her hand, which she’d gotten from the school nurse before the lunch period. It said right on the bottle, do not take on an empty stomach. She popped the pills anyway. She could handle being dizzy and moody, but not being 200 pounds. “Just eat it.”

  “If you insist. Thanks.” He snatched up her meal and finished it as quickly as he had the first. His face split with a dopey grin.

  “It couldn’t have been that good.”

  “The sandwich? Terrible. But today’s going to be a good day. I can feel it.”

  His giddiness meant something good must have happened. “Did you finish the code?”

  “Worked most of the night on it. I’m running on about three hours of sleep, but I might finish it up after school if I can stay awake.” He gulped the last of his milk. “And I texted Erica last night. She wants to talk to me today.”

  “No way.” Her eyes widened. “Serious?”

  “Totally.” Oliver looked up behind her.

  Erica walked toward them. She wore a black skirt, black and green striped stockings that went up over her knees, a black halter top, and black vest. Her hair was black, her makeup was black, her shoes were black. Lauren wondered if she were simply covering for being color blind.

  Before Erica was close enough to hear, Lauren leaned forward and asked Oliver, “Are you going to ask what’s up with the gloves?”

  No matter the weather, Erica always wore a pair of thin black gloves with the fingers cut off. They looked like peasant’s gloves, beggar gloves.

  “It’s fashion. Get with it.”

  “No one else wears them.”

  “Not yet. She’ll set a trend. Watch.” He stood up and waved.

  Erica rolled her eyes. She set her tray next to his and sat down. She scowled at Lauren. “Who’s this?”

  “Lauren, my best friend.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Lauren said. She put her hand out, but Erica stared at her.

  “So what, you’re like my stalker or something?” Erica asked Oliver.

  “I’m not a stalker. I’m making a game. Well, we are. Me and Lauren. A role playing game. Thought you might be interested in it.”

  Erica’s black lips pulled into a sneer. “A video game? What makes you think I’d be interested in that?”

  Oliver’s face fell. He shrugged his shoulders. “Thought you might think it was cool.”

  Lauren’s stomach growled. She pushed the gnawing hunger out of mind. Oliver was embarrassed, humiliated. Without even trying, Erica managed to trivialize the one thing she and Oliver had worked so tirelessly on for the last few years. No one thought it was important but them, and Lauren was getting sick of it. She was getting sick of a lot of things. Her face heated. Irritation and anger welled up in her like they had last night. She leaned in real close to Erica. “We were thinking of putting you in the game.”

  Erica grinned with half her mouth, amused, but not willing to laugh. “Really.”

  Lauren said, “Of course. We need a wicked witch, and you fit the bill perfectly.”

  Erica worked her half-grin into a half-frown. “Sounds about right. Fat girl insecurity. I’ve seen it before.”

  Lauren wanted to cry, wanted to punch Erica. She didn’t do either. Instead, Oliver spoke up, much to Lauren’s surprise. His soft voice sounded confident, which confused Lauren completely—how could he keep his calm? “Hey, come on, Erica. Come on, Lauren. Let’s not get so mean. Get to know each other.”

  Erica stood up, leaving her tray of food. Lauren couldn’t blame her for that. “She’s not worth it,” Erica said.

  Not worth it? The little witch. Lauren’s insecurities snapped into irritation, into a vengeful thirst for malice. “So what’s with the gloves? I mean, I get that it’s cold, but your gloves don’t even cover your fingers. It’s not fashion—none of the other goth girls wear gloves. Especially not in the spring and summer. Not like you do. And, to be quite honest, they’re kinda trashy. They look like something a homeless bum would wear.”

  Erica’s hair bristled. She turned around, ruthless eyes masking a deeper sadness. For a minute, Lauren almost felt sorry for her. “What’s with your fat face?” Erica said. She turned back and walked away.

  Oliver threw his empty milk carton at Lauren. “Nice going.”

  “What?”

  “She hates me now. She didn’t know me before, but now she hates me.”

  Lauren shrugged. “No. She hates me. You, she likes.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I seriously don’t even know why you like her. She’s a witch.”

  Oliver put his hands behind his head and stretched his elbows wide. “Ever think she’s mean as a defense mechanism? That maybe something happened to her to make her sensitive and insecure and the only way to defend herself is through sarcasm and social isolation?”

  Lauren’s blood froze. “You’re talking about me, aren’t you?”

  “We all have problems, Lauren. It doesn’t mean we have to be so cruel to each other, to your mom or sister or even Erica.”

  “I can’t even believe you’re saying this right now. She called me fat and insecure.”

  “I’m not taking sides. I’m worried about you.”

  “You sure have a funny way of showing it.”

  Oliver looked up behind her again. It must be Erica, back for more. She didn’t turn around.

  “Hey,” Oliver said.

  “Everything cool here?” someone asked. The voice sounded familiar, a boy’s voice, deep and dreamy.

  Crap. Aiden. And here she was all fat and blotchy faced with embarrassment. She closed her eyes and prayed he’d go away.

  “Yeah. Grab a seat.”

  Impossibly, he put his tray next to Lauren and sat down. “You’re Lauren, right?”

  Her mouth instantly went dry, and she became hyper aware of her hands. What should she do with them? They sat there looking stupid and ugly.

  “Yeah,” Oliver said.

  “You okay? Looked like you and that other girl got into a bit of a fight.”

  She couldn’t believe her ears. Did he really ask if she was okay?

  “We’re fine,” Oliver offered after she sat there in silent awkwardness.

  “Okay, cool. Hey, you’re Bailey Renee’s sister, right?”

  Disappointment stabbed her, and Lauren closed her eyes. She’d wondered how long it would take him to figure out her relationship to Bailey. She expected him to make the connection when they’d been paired up in Algebra II. That was a good day. She’d gotten over her nerves quickly and had a good talk with him. Of course, they never talked again.

  It only made sense he’d be into Bailey Renee. The hot new kid, all-star football receiver could never be interested in a loser fat girl. Not like her.

  “Yes,” Oliver said. “Why?”

  Ai
den pushed his curly sand-colored hair back. “This is kind of embarrassing. So Bailey Renee’s dating a friend of mine, and she told me you were really good at English.”

  Lauren cleared her throat, surprised Bailey Renee said something nice about her. She dug deep and finally found her voice. “I guess so.”

  “She’s rocking an A+ right now,” Oliver said. “She’s killing that class.”

  “Thank God, because I’m totally not, bro. Coach says I got to pull my grade up or I’m off the team. We’ve got finals coming up, and I can’t mess this up. I’m supposed to rewrite an essay and retake a few tests next week. Can you help me out?”

  Her stupid fat hands sat on the table like two seals sunning themselves on tide rocks. “Uhm, I think so. I mean, if I’m not grounded for forever.” Hope, ridiculously light and cheery, settled on her heart and tickled her with feathery wings.

  The final lunch bell rang. Aiden stood up and straightened his purple and white letterman jacket. “So can we talk after school? If you need a ride home or whatever, I can get you one. Franky is already planning on giving Bailey Renee a ride home, so he can take us too, if that’s cool.”

  “What? No, yeah. I drove, but whatever. I’ll call my mom and find out if I can stay late or something. Meet me at the computer lab?”

  “For sure.” He smiled.

  Lauren dizzied.

  * * *

  Thanks to funding from a grant Mr. Benson earned, the computer lab of North Chester High boasted some of the best technology in the state of Minnesota. Located in the basement level and big as two classrooms, the lab had stations for up to fifty students laid out in two horseshoe shapes, each lining the outer walls.

  When Lauren and Oliver arrived at the lab, Oliver’s mom, Mrs. Shaw, opened the door for them. She wore jeans and an orange turtleneck. She had a walkie-talkie clipped to the waist of her jeans and a pair of sunglasses on top of her head to keep her black hair out of her face. Lauren actually liked her more than her own mother at times.

  “Thanks for staying in here with us, Mom,” Oliver said.

  “No problem, baby. Anything for you and Lauren.”

  Oliver slung his backpack under a computer station and flipped the computer on. He spoke softly, but firmly. “Can you do me a favor and never call me ‘baby’ at school again, please?”

  She laughed and pinched his cheek. “Awww … am I embarrassing you?”

  Lauren’s lips pulled into a sad smile. It’d be nice to have a mother embarrass her with love instead of insult.

  “Seriously, Mom. I love you and all, but you don’t have to broadcast it.”

  Mrs. Shaw gestured to the empty room with both arms stretched wide. “Broadcast it to whom, exactly? Are we on some reality show I wasn’t told about?”

  “You know what I mean,” he said. He pushed a flash drive into the USB hub and began copying files. “We should only be here for an hour or so. I’m going to show someone Alrujah, and Lauren’s going to help someone with his English.”

  Mrs. Shaw said, “Oh? Oliver’s not using names. You two must like these other nameless students.”

  Oliver blushed. “Seriously, Mom. Please. Be cool this once, okay?”

  Mrs. Shaw sat at the teacher workstation and logged into the computer. “Wow. They sure do grow up fast. How about I chat with you over the intranet? Or on Facebook. What do you think?”

  He sighed. “Just don’t pinch my cheek or call me baby.”

  “Got it,” she said. “At least Lauren’s here. I can still talk to her, can’t I?”

  “Of course you can, Mrs. Shaw,” Lauren said. She opened a highly organized document detailing every facet of Alrujah. She leaned closer to Oliver and whispered, “At least she didn’t suggest you go see a counselor.”

  “So how are you, sweetie?”

  It was nice to be called “Sweetie” for once. Bailey Renee didn’t understand how lucky she was to have the affection of their mother, to be called sweetie by someone who meant it. She said, “I’m okay. How are you?”

  Mrs. Shaw’s walkie-talkie squawked. She shot up fast and headed out of the room. “Hang on a second, guys. Actually, this may take a bit. I’ll be back when I can. Be good.” She disappeared from the lab, probably to help break up an after-school fight. As a part-time proctor for the school, her duties included being on call for emergencies on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

  Shortly after, Aiden came in. His iceberg blue eyes froze her, and she felt like a flower blooming in reverse. “There you are,” he said. He sat at the computer next to her. He smiled. “I like your sweater. That’s a cool shade of purple. Like the school spirit.”

  Oh. My. Gosh. “Thanks,” she said. “I like your…” She paused. She wanted to say “everything,” but didn’t want to come on too strong. “I like your arms.”

  “My arms?” he asked, half laughing—a sound like a song. “Right. Thanks. Anyway, here’s my essay.” He handed her a black jump drive.

  Lauren took it, making sure her finger lightly brushed his—a gentle gesture, easily explained away as an accident. But, when their skin touched—the tip of her forefinger and his thumb—she thought her skin might erupt in electricity.

  “What’s this here?” he asked, pointing to her file of information about Alrujah.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly.

  “That’s a whole lot of bullet points for nothing.”

  Oliver turned in his seat slightly. “Actually, it’s information for a game we’re creating and …”

  “Oliver!” Lauren shouted.

  “What?”

  “You guys are making a game?”

  The flame of her embarrassment ignited beneath her cheeks. “Oh gosh.”

  “A role-playing game, called Alrujah. She does all the writing for it, and I do the graphics and the development—physics engines and all that.”

  “Bro, that’s intense.”

  “Can you please stop talking,” she whispered to Oliver.

  Erica walked in, her black hair pulled into a rat’s nest on the back of her head. A silver stud rested like some steel orb on her left nostril. She’d gotten fancy with her eyeliner and made some elaborate pattern at the corner of each eyelid, an ornate, flowery design all in black, traced down to her high cheekbones. Black lipstick covered her lips like a bruise, and her purple eye-shadow made her eyes look swollen and puffy, like she’d gone ten rounds with an expert MMA fighter. Uncountable studs and rings ran up the outside of her ears. If Lauren didn’t know better, she’d have guessed Erica took her fashion sense from texts on ancient Egypt.

  “Hi, Erica,” Oliver said. “Come sit down.”

  Erica stared at Lauren. “Honestly, I’d rather not. Not if she’s going to be here.”

  “Something wrong?” Aiden asked.

  “A whole lot of things,” Erica said.

  Lauren rolled her eyes. She didn’t want Erica there, but Oliver liked her. Otherwise, he never would have asked Lauren to put her into the game. “I can leave,” she said. She stood up and Aiden put his hand on her wrist.

  “Hold on, you shouldn’t have to leave. You have to help me with my essay. You guys can’t even be in the same room?”

  Erica sent the same knife-tipped stare toward him. “The jock needs help on an essay. There’s a switch.”

  “The game won’t take long. It’s not even fully finished. Still have another night’s worth of work to go, but it’s really cool, I promise,” Oliver said.

  Erica folded her arms across her chest and dropped her bag in the chair next to Oliver. She stood over his shoulder. “Be fast. I have other things to waste my time on.”

  Oliver smiled. He opened a file browser and began to show her the artwork he’d digitized, even the demo he’d made a few months back.

  Lauren couldn’t figure out why Oliver smiled at her, why he gawked at her like she was a celebrity. Erica had been rude to him since he met her, but still he took every insult like a compliment. What would Lauren do if he and Erica ever
started dating? Probably never see him again. No way Erica would let him hang out with her, and there’s no way he’d ever pick her over Erica. Settle down, she thought. I’m making up problems that don’t even exist.

  She wondered again how someone like Aiden ended up sitting next to someone like her. But it happened. And he hadn’t once said anything about her weight. For a short second, hope stretched its wings. What if Aiden wasn’t the typical date-the-perfect-cheerleader jock? But danger always hovered over hope. The strange politics of popularity ruled high school with clear, undeniable, irrefutable laws: Popular jocks didn’t date loser fat girls. She put it out of her mind and focused, instead, on his paper. “Okay. What you want to do is start off here with a stronger thesis statement.”

  “A thesis statement?”

  “Yes. The sentence that says specifically what your paper will explore and what it will prove.”

  “Lauren, you’re going to have to slow way down.”

  * * *

  Oliver clicked at his computer long after the sun had set. He checked the clock on his screen—two in the morning. He had to get up in four hours to get to school, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop working on the game. Too close to quit now. Another minute of debugging final code and he’d be ready to compile and compress the Beta, nearly a week earlier than he had expected.

  He’d always been driven to finish, but the thought of impressing Erica pushed him that much harder. Erica didn’t hate him, amazingly. She talked with him, sat with him, and met him in the computer lab where she actually seemed excited by what he’d put together, as excited as she could seem while still being tragically cool. “Pretty dope, I guess,” she’d said. “Kinda chill you put it all together.” It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

  He tapped furiously on the keyboard. The soft icy glow of the screen dimly illuminated his room. He scrolled through thousands of pages of code, making minute adjustments, checking and rechecking for consistency. He should remain humble, but pride swelled in his chest and filled his lungs. Most professional design teams took years to develop games half as complex and fluid. And he had written it all, every line of code. Every idea from Lauren’s imagination found a home in what she lovingly called “Oliver’s file of gibberish.”