by David Lubar
“He’ll give it to me, all right,” I said. “With his fists.”
“Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?” Chase asked.
“The worst? A broken nose. A broken neck. Broken ribs. You want me to go on?”
“I’m tired of being scared,” Chase said. “I’m going to ask him for it.”
“No!”
But it was too late. Chase was already headed for Donald. I followed him, but didn’t catch up.
“Hey, you know that thing you picked up,” Chase said when he reached Donald. “It belongs to—”
“Out of my way,” Donald said. He gave Chase a push.
I expected Chase to give up. Instead, after staggering back a step or two, he moved right in front of Donald. “I wasn’t finished,” he said.
“You are totally finished,” Donald said. He grabbed Chase’s shirt in one large fist and pulled back his other fist to throw a punch.
I flinched. But I decided to try to help. There was no way I could reach them before Donald threw the first punch. But I could at least get there before the second or third one. Not that I was sure I could do anything more useful than convincing Donald to hit me instead, or helping Chase pick up his teeth.
I clenched my fists, wondering whether it would hurt more to get hit by Donald or to hit him on his hard head.
To my credit, I kept moving.
Donald, on the other hand, froze. I don’t mean he paused. I mean he had stopped moving. He still had a grip on Chase, and he still had his other fist drawn back. But he wasn’t moving at all. He wasn’t blinking or breathing.
I stared at Donald for a moment. Then I looked down at my hand. I was clutching the controller. My thumb was pressed against the START button. In most games, START works as a pause button.
Chase’s eyes were squeezed shut. I couldn’t blame him. He probably figured Donald was purposely not hitting him yet, just to make him suffer for longer.
I tapped START again. Donald’s fist shot forward. I barely managed to pause him again before he hit Chase.
Okay—this could be good. As long as I could think fast. I still had Donald’s two friends to worry about. For the moment, they were staring, too. But they probably weren’t going to stand there forever.
I had to do this perfectly, and hope I guessed right. If I was wrong, Chase’s head would end up with a couple of knuckle-shaped dents. Luckily, I was a pretty good game player. Okay—that’s being modest. I was really good. If I owned a new system, I’d be on tons of leader boards. But my PS2 skills should be good enough for what I had to do.
I shifted my grip on the controller, holding it like I was playing a game, with a thumb on each of the two sticks. I slid my right thumb over to hit START, unpaused Donald, tapped B, which most games use to drop things, then threw both sticks left. Donald let go of Chase and spun counterclockwise. I wasn’t sure which way he’d spin, since some games reverse the x axis of the camera, but it didn’t matter, since there was someone on each side.
Donald and Chase both yelled in surprise. Donald finished throwing his punch, taking out one of his pals. I turned him around 180 degrees, so he faced his other friend, and hit the X button, which is the one most of my games use for melee attacks. Donald threw another punch. The other bully went down.
Just for fun, I hit A. Yup, it made him jump. I hit START when he was in the air. His body froze, but he still came down. It would have been pretty amazing to freeze him in midair, but I guess the laws of physics are pretty unbreakable.
“What just happened?” Chase asked.
Instead of answering, I put Donald through a short dance, leaping and spinning like a third-grader trying to do the Nutcracker. Then I paused him. I noticed that words appeared on his shirt, like on a pause screen.
“That’s awesome,” Chase said. “Thanks for saving my skin.”
“No problem. But, bully or not, I guess it’s wrong to keep him paused forever. How am I going to get the receiver? If I can’t control him, he’s going to murder both of us.”
“You could leave it in his pocket. He’d never bully us again.”
“Until he changes his pants,” I said.
“That could be months.”
“Seriously, what do you think we should do.”
A car whizzed past. Chase stared out at the street for a moment, then said, “I have an idea.”
I knew him well enough to read his thoughts, especially when they were so obvious. “No way. We’re not making him walk in front of a car.” I forced myself not to smile. I guess I was evil enough to like the idea, but not evil enough to actually do it. I wonder if that made me mid-evil.
“What about a motorcycle?” Chase asked. “He’d probably just break a leg.”
“Forget it.”
“Bicycle?”
“Nope.”
“Skater?”
“No.”
“I’m all out of ideas,” Chase said.
“Me, too.” I looked at the two guys on the ground. There was no way to know how long it would be before they woke up. I definitely didn’t want to be around when that happened.
“Did you see this?” Chase asked, pointing to Donald’s shirt.
“Yeah. It’s a pause menu.” Every game had one. I scanned down it, and got as far as the third listing.
RESUME
CONTROLS
DIFFICULTY
“Difficulty!” I shouted.
RESUME was highlighted. I pressed down twice on the crosspad. Then I hit X to select DIFFICULTY. The text changed.
EASY
NORMAL
DIFFICULT
BERSERK
At the moment, BERSERK was highlighted. I selected EASY, then backed out of the menu, all the way to the main pause screen.
“Ready?” I asked Chase.
“Yeah. Do it.”
I unpaused Donald.
“I’m going to murder you!” he shouted.
He lunged toward me and swung a fist.
I couldn’t believe how slowly he moved. I stepped aside. His fist clipped my shoulder. It felt like I’d been smacked with an understuffed pillow swung by a toddler.
I gave him a push. He toppled over. I bent down, slipped the receiver out of his pocket, and stepped back. He got to his feet and rushed toward me again.
“Let’s go,” I said.
Chase and I walked off. Donald ran after us, but it didn’t look like he’d be able to catch up. I could no longer control him, but it didn’t matter. He was permanently set on EASY. I had a feeling a lot of his usual victims would be in for a big surprise the next time he tried to bully them.
“Well, that worked out a lot better than I expected,” Chase said.
“Remind me to buy more batteries,” I said.
“Why?”
“There are a lot of other bullies out there. I’d hate to lose power now that I finally have some.”
MR. CHOMPYWOMP
Alina clutched the teddy bear close to her as she walked toward her aunt’s apartment. It was on the same block as her own apartment building. She didn’t have to cross the street to get there—she just had to turn the corner twice. That was nice, because it meant she could head off in either direction and not get lost. Her mother would have walked with her, but there’d been an emergency. Alina didn’t really understand what had happened. She just knew that nice old Mrs. Pershing, across the hall, had been frantic, and there’d been a lot of shouting and screaming. Then, Alina’s mom had knelt down and said to her, “You need to go to your auntie’s. Can you walk there by yourself?”
Alina had nodded. She wasn’t afraid of anything. Not when she had Mr. Chompywomp with her. He would protect her from anything. That was her secret.
“Don’t talk to anyone,” her mother said.
“I won’t.”
“Don’t even look at anyone.”
“I know.”
Alina grabbed the teddy bear from her bed, kissed her mom, and took the elevator down to the first floor.
She headed out, clutching the teddy bear close so that Mr. Chompywomp would hear her heart beating.
Left or right?
Still clutching the teddy bear with both arms, she headed left. Her heart sped up as she turned the corner and saw the boys. Three of them. Older, tougher, and obviously looking for trouble. She froze, wondering whether she could retreat before they noticed her.
“What’s this?” the biggest one said, stepping in front of her. He had the name CALVIN stitched on his jacket.
Another of the boys stepped past Calvin and moved behind her. The third stood where he was, off to the side.
“You lost?” Calvin asked.
Alina shook her head. She didn’t see anybody else nearby to rescue her.
“You must be lost. Anyone who lives here knows you gotta pay tribute to King Calvin. Got any money?”
Alina shook her head again.
“You don’t say much. Maybe I’ll talk to him instead.” Calvin snatched the teddy bear.
“Don’t hurt Mr. Chompywomp!” she shouted before she could control herself.
Calvin let out a laugh that had no humor in it. “Mr. Chompywomp?” He squeezed the bear’s neck and prodded its mouth with his other hand. “No teeth. No real mouth. How’s he gonna chomp anything?”
Alina kept her own mouth shut.
“What a piece of junk,” Calvin said. “He’s not even sewn together good.” He yanked at the bear’s head. It separated with a rip. Loose threads dangled from the ragged neck.
“Oh, poor little bear,” the boy behind Alina said.
“Looks like Mr. Chompywomp came apart,” Calvin said. “I wonder if your head is attached any better.”
“That’s not Mr. Chompywomp,” Alina said. “That’s Mr. Bear.” She figured she wasn’t revealing a secret. At least, not a secret that would be kept much longer.
Calvin stood there, not showing any sign of understanding.
“Mr. Chompywomp lives inside Mr. Bear. Until he gets hungry.”
Something dark and strong burst from the open neck of Mr. Bear and leaped onto Calvin’s chest. Calvin’s scream drowned out the wet sound of Mr. Chompywomp digging for his heart.
Before Calvin even hit the ground, Mr. Chompywomp had leaped to his second victim. The third one fell soon after.
Alina waited until Mr. Chompywomp had groomed the blood from his fur before letting him crawl back into Mr. Bear.
“Don’t worry,” she said as she walked away from King Calvin and his friends. “Auntie has a sewing kit. I’ll fix you up as good as new.” But, like always, she’d make sure not to sew Mr. Bear’s head on too tightly. Mr. Chompywomp had a big appetite. Luckily, King Calvin wasn’t the only heartless person out there.
FLESH DRIVE
It’s bad enough I got ear infections all the time. It was even worse my parents were too cheap to pay for an operation in the United States. They decided to drag me to this sketchy hospital in South America that was selling a combination vacation/surgery package.
So, basically, I had a good shot at dying at the hands of some doctors who got their medical school degrees on the Internet, but my parents would both get a great tan.
Luckily, through some miracle, the doctors didn’t kill me when they were carving into my head. It wasn’t until a month later that I noticed the weird part. When my scalp finally healed, and the last piece of scab fell off, I saw something small and metallic on the side of my head. I spotted it when I was brushing my teeth.
I leaned closer to the mirror and stared. I’d recognize that small trapezoidal shape anywhere. So would every kid on the planet who owned a single piece of modern electronics that used memory cards.
It was a USB port.
No way.
I touched it. It felt hard and cold. That didn’t tell me anything. But I definitely recognized it. I used a USB cable to transfer files to my gaming systems and to my parents’ camera, which currently contained a couple gigs’ worth of photos of them having fun on the beach.
I went back to my room. I had Dad’s old computer. He was as cheap with electronics as he was with surgery, so the PC was pretty ancient. I was probably the only kid on the block using a version of Windows that was more than three releases out of date. Still, the PC wasn’t so old that it didn’t have USB ports. I grabbed my cable from the drawer and stood there for a long time. I wasn’t sure whether I should risk it. But, hey, I’d survived that hospital. I felt I could survive anything.
I plugged myself in.
A small window popped up above the task bar. MASS STORAGE DEVICE DETECTED.
For sure. I opened the MY COMPUTER window and looked at the devices. The hard drive was there in C, the CD-ROM drive in B, and the floppy in A. (That’s how old the PC was. It had a floppy drive and couldn’t play DVDs.) Listed below those, I saw E: MASS STORAGE DEVICE.
Cool. I right-clicked on PROPERTIES. Wow. My brain had a capacity of 1,000 terabytes. Then I saw it was only using about 50 terabytes. I clicked on the icon. It showed two folders: SHORT TERM, LONG TERM.
I opened LONG TERM. That had dozens of folders. I found a folder for LANGUAGE. Just for fun, I opened the drive on my computer and grabbed the dictionary file. I dragged it over to my brain.
Here goes.
I released the mouse button so the file would copy into the LANGUAGE folder. As the progress bar filled, I tried to see whether my mind had changed. It was hard to tell. I had a book on my desk. I flipped it opened and looked for a word I shouldn’t know. I didn’t see anything. But maybe that was because I knew all the words.
I looked across the room at my bookcase. My summer reading assignment was there. That would definitely be filled with words I’d never heard of. I could thumb through it and really test my brain. I got up from my desk and headed across the room.
I’d only taken a single step when I felt the tug.
Oh, no. I’d forgotten about the USB port. A thought shot through my mind as I reached toward my head to keep the cable from pulling out. I’d yanked a flash drive out of my computer once, without ejecting it first. The whole thing had been fried. All the memory was gone. Every byte had been erased.
As I reached up, I felt the free end of the cable hit my hand. I was too
GOTHIC HORRORS
The three witches, Selena thought as she looked across the cafeteria at the goth girls. Mimi, Amanda, and Katerina were dressed as darkly as the school would allow, in black tops, fishnet sleeves, and black skirts over black tights. A splash of red cloth here or there contrasted with black fingernails and black lips. Their eyes peered from dark hollows of makeup.
They were gloomy, sulky, and indistinguishable. They were morose and threatening. They were also everything Selena wanted to be. Witches. Princesses of Darkness. Whatever they were, Selena found herself drawn to them. They were the most real girls in the school, not seeming to care what anybody thought about them. Not afraid to be themselves.
But they’d ignored her awkward attempts to enter their circle. She’d tried talking to them at their lockers. They’d stared at her as if she spoke Latin. She’d tried hovering nearby when they gathered outside after school. They’d looked right through her. They weren’t interested. She didn’t matter.
The bell rang. Selena watched as students untangled themselves from the benches on each side of the long tables and jostled toward the doorway. The jocks laughed and punched each other. The nerds laughed and tried to punch each other. The pretty girls teased the cute guys. The punks sneered and looked bored. The goth girls looked as if their best friends, or maybe their pets, had recently died in tragic and horrible ways.
Amanda and Katerina grabbed their purses, which were also black. Amanda dropped her books as she was gathering them, and Mimi bent to help her. When the three girls left, Selena noticed Mimi’s purse on the seat. She walked over to their table and waited for the cafeteria to empty out. Soon, nobody was left except for a custodian, who was busy wiping down tables and cursing the sloppiness of the
students.
The purse, black cloth with an open clasp, lay on the seat, gaping wide enough to display a tangle of contents. I should bring it to her, Selena thought. She reached down and imagined Mimi thanking her when she returned the purse. Mimi would actually look at her—not through her. Then Mimi would ask her to hang out with them.
The fantasy was replaced with another, darker scene where Mimi snatched the purse from her hands and accused her of theft, spewing screams at her. Selena pulled herself away from the daydreams and gazed at the purse. Something dark jutted out, as if trying to escape. Nail polish. Black polish.
Her parents would never let her use it. But her parents worked late most school days. She could paint her nails now, enjoy them for the rest of the day, and remove the polish before her parents got home. Selena sat at the table and put her hand on the bottle. She had a study hall this period. She could risk being a couple minutes late.
She uncapped the polish and painted the thick, black liquid on her nails. The polish dried to a beautiful, glossy darkness. As Selena slipped the bottle back into the bag, she sensed someone behind her. She swung her legs around and stood, to find herself facing Mimi.
“I didn’t…” Selena tried to think what action she needed to deny. I didn’t take anything? Almost true. I didn’t hurt anything? Very true.
“It’s okay,” Mimi said. She picked up the purse, then looked down toward Selena’s hands. “It’s not about the nails.” She reached into her purse and removed a small silver tube. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
Selena nodded.
“Stand still.”
While Selena stood, Mimi painted Selena’s lips.
“Thank you,” Selena said when Mimi was done.
“It’s not about the lips or the clothes, either,” Mimi said. “It’s not about appearances. It’s about being your true self.” She took her purse and walked away.
Selena headed for her study hall, but stopped on the way to look at herself in the girls’ room mirror.
She pushed her hair back and turned her head slowly from side to side. She liked what she saw. This is my true self, she thought. She lacked eye shadow, but that could be taken care of next time. She also lacked black hair. Hers was dark brown. But maybe she could make one little change at a time, keeping each one small enough so her parents never noticed.
