by Sarah Daltry
“I’m wearing my lucky shirt.” He pulls back his hoodie to reveal his shirt, which says, simply, “I wish real life was directed by Joss Whedon.”
“Everybody stay alert for flying objects,” I say.
“Why?” Lanyon sighs.
“With a pussy magnet like Lanyon around, women could come crashing through the windows at any second.”
“Pussy magnet. Is that Tennyson?” Katie asks.
“Actually, I think it’s Fitzgerald,” I counter.
“No.” Katie puts her finger to her chin in thought. “Now that I think of it, it was Gygax.”
“Heresy,” Lanyon screams. “Burn the heretic.”
“You’re never getting a date,” I tell him.
“Your mom’s not getting a date.”
“She doesn’t need one; she’s married.”
“Stop being such a sexist,” Lanyon says.
“Are we going to the mall?” Katie pipes up.
“I prefer this,” I admit.
“Anybody want a Snickers?” Lanyon asks.
“No. Come on. Let’s go and find the loneliest, dorkiest girl in the mall,” Katie says.
“Impossible. You aren’t in the mall yet,” I tease her. She punches me in the neck. “Nice hit. Double damage.” I rub my neck.
“Ah, young love. The Marquis would approve. Now, let’s get in there and see if I can cash in on someone else’s depression.”
“Lanyon, you, sir, are a lord of chivalry.”
***
We enter the mall and it’s pretty packed.
“Sodomized reindeer,” I complain. “It’s Christmas. Of course the mall is packed.”
“Worse, it’s packed with aunts.” Lanyon’s right. Squadrons of auntish-looking people scrabble about in packs of four to six. A variety of salesmen are pinned to walls as the aunts consult lists and ask questions that make no sense.
“Abort. Abort,” Katie whispers.
“We won’t get another shot at this,” Lanyon says.
“Lanyon can get those pants down. We just need to buy him more time,” I add.
“Do you guys ever stop?” Katie asks.
We shake our heads.
“Let’s find someone who is almost as unattractive as Lanyon,” I say as I scan the crowd. “Oh, look. There.” I point to a corner, which contains what appear to be cigarette butts and vomit.
“No. She’s a little too cute,” Katie says.
“You guys are mean to me. You’re going to be sad when I’m gone.”
“Where would you go?” I ask.
“Boise?”
“We’re going to have more luck finding King Solomon’s mines than a date for you,” Katie tells him.
“We have the technology. We can build her,” says Lanyon. “Or just buy her. Hey, what if I bring a sex doll to the date?” Katie shakes her head. “Why? Ryan Gosling made it cool. If he can do it, I can, too.”
“No. There is a whole list of things that he can do that you can’t. And that includes most of the girls in this mall,” I say.
He pulls out a Snickers bar, but I slap it out of his hand. “The mall is a lie,” he whines and picks up his Snickers.
Katie
We maneuver through the crowds. I can’t believe all I do is hang out at the mall. I don’t know why I can’t believe it, since it’s pretty much all I ever do when I’m home from school, but it just feels sad. Although less sad when George finally remembers that we’re on a date and holds my hand. Of course, Lanyon doesn’t let it go.
“Watch out. Hands lead to sweat; sweat leads to friction; friction leads to erections; erections lead to little Georges.”
“Is it possible that I can have a girlfriend for maybe eight seconds without you humiliating me?” George asks.
“Am I your girlfriend?” I figure now’s as good a time as any to ask.
“Um…” He pauses. Lanyon stands next to us and moves his head back and forth waiting for the answer. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”
I step up on my tiptoes, brushing his hair out of his glasses and back from his face. Then I kiss him on his forehead. “Yup.”
He grins, a big, toothy, blushy grin, and I almost kiss him. Until Lanyon taps me on the shoulder as I lean in.
“Yes, Lanyon?” I say.
“Now you need to buy us gifts for Christmas.”
“Why, pray tell, do I need to buy you a gift for Christmas?”
“George and I are like Voltron. Useless individually. A giant robot of death when combined.”
George knocks Lanyon out of the way and kisses me. Right there, in the middle of the mall. A real kiss, too. His arms wrap around me and he reaches up into the back of my hair. I’m sure it’s just the heat of the building and the crowds, but I’m completely annihilated by it. I moan a little against his mouth and I can’t help but think of the stupid movie I saw with Anna. I don’t even care, though. If George growled at me, I would totally go for it. Fortunately, he doesn’t. He just kisses me a little deeper, and then pulls away, pressing two fingers to my lips. I feel all girly and squishy.
“I want a Moogle,” Lanyon says.
“Okay, Lanyon. I’ll get you a Moogle,” I say, and I take George’s hand again. The three of us head off, Lanyon singing a song about Moogles that is one hundred percent not an actual song. I really don’t care. It’s basically the best date I’ve ever been on. This is further solidified when George suggests splitting a giant cookie in the food court. Yes, we split it three ways, but my boyfriend gives me the biggest part – and he buys a heart shaped one.
“So, what do you want for Christmas?” I ask.
“Your vagina,” Lanyon offers.
“Ignore him,” George says.
“I’ve been trying.”
“I don’t know. What do you want?” He turns it on me. The thing is, I don’t really want anything.
“To beat that boss. I really want to beat the secret boss.”
“I can’t buy you that,” George reminds me.
“I know. But that’s what I want.”
“You could buy a lot of vagina with ten thousand dollars,” Lanyon suggests.
“Looks like we’re grinding tonight,” George says. Before I can answer, we both look at Lanyon and wait. He takes a sip of his soda and continues eating his cookie.
“Well?” I ask. “No comment?”
“Eh,” says Lanyon. “Too easy.”
George raises his eyebrow, but Lanyon has nothing to add. We finish our cookie, deciding we’ll look for a date for Lanyon and then head home to play some more.
“I can, um, save my character on a thumb drive,” I offer.
“We’ll be up all night,” George says. “You want to stay over?”
I nod. “Yeah. I do.”
“Can I come?” Lanyon asks.
“No, man. Come on,” George pleads.
Lanyon looks like he’s going to cry. I pick up my trash and, when I come back, he looks even more miserable. I feel guilty. I know it’s dumb, because I should want to spend the night alone at George’s house, but we’re gaming anyway and he lives with his parents. It’s not like Lanyon can’t be there.
“Lanyon, I don’t mind if you come,” I offer. George looks at me and I shrug, mouthing that I’m sorry. He smiles, though, probably happy he’s not stuck picking me over his best friend.
“What did you say?” Lanyon asks.
“I said I don’t mind if you come tonight.”
He crumples up his napkins and throws them at the trash can. They land about ten feet short and four feet wide. He yells, “Bazinga! That’s what she said.”
George
“Now, I need a girl to join me at the slumber party,” Lanyon says.
“Why don’t you just focus on getting a date?” Katie asks. “I really don’t think a girl you just met is going to want to spend the night with all of us at a stranger’s house.”
“You obviously have not met any college freshmen. But your larger point is a good on
e.”
I grab Lanyon by the shoulders and stare into his perpetually distracted eyes. “Find a girl. Choose wisely.”
“That one.” He points arbitrarily to a girl leaning against a wall.
“She’s twelve,” Katie argues.
“You have chosen. Poorly,” I say.
“Hmmm. Perhaps she’s a bit young.” He glances about. “Ah, now, what about that sharply dressed lady in the sensible shoes?”
“She has to be near eighty.” Katie shakes her head.
“Yeah, but she has blue hair. Blue hair is cool in a fight the system, worthless, ineffective sort of way.”
“I suppose,” I say, “but only if you dye your hair. That lady’s hair is just old lady blue. The idea here, Lanyon, is to look for a girl who interests you, not just the one you see next.”
“Ah. To the hunt then. I think we should graze by the game store. That is where we are most likely to strike vaginal gold.”
“This doesn’t offend you, does it?” I ask Katie.
“No way. I think it’s funny.”
“Good. Because we can get pretty crass. Especially during a sleepover. You have no idea what you could be getting yourself into.”
“Depending on where Lanyon sleeps, I could say the same for you.” She winks. I have a second to wonder if this is a legit tossing of the cat. But then she laughs. “See, I can be playful, too. Now, quit staring and let’s find this gangly friend of yours a date.”
Lanyon is several yards ahead of us now. He pauses to look at a phone kiosk across from the food court. “Phone. Lanyon, phone,” he mutters.
“Goddamn phone zombie.” I slap him. “Didn’t you just upgrade? Besides, you hardly even use your phone.”
“But phone,” he points.
“We’re going to have to shoot him in the head,” Katie says.
Instead, I slap him.
“Them’s fighting words,” Lanyon says.
I slap him again. “Baraka wins.”
“Fine. Hey, look at her. She seems cute, lonely, and not likely to have Crohn’s disease,” he says and points.
We follow Lanyon’s outstretched finger to a tiny girl with huge glasses. Her hair is long, straight, and brown. It also looks like she may not have washed it for a few days. This could be Lanyon’s perfect match.
“Leaping lizards. She appears to be playing with a DS. The time to strike is nigh.” Lanyon begins to stride toward her in a last march of the Ents type of way.
“Hold on.” Katie grabs him. “Don’t you want to come up with a plan or something?”
“Plans are for cowards and Sam Fisher. Lanyon needs no plans.”
“Lanyon better not refer to himself in the third person,” I advise. “Plus, remember the library. Remember your failure at the library.”
“Right.” He stops. “What do I need?”
“Only what you take with you,” I say.
He nods.
“Remember,” Katie says. “Do or do not.”
“It’s getting awfully Dagobah in here all of a sudden. Just let me hit on the girl.”
“Fine,” I say. “But don’t use the word fuck.”
“Damn it,” Lanyon says. “There goes my best line.”
“You have lines? Like actual pickup lines?” Katie asks. “I thought those were only in the movies.” She looks at me. “What pickup line did you use on me?”
“If I remember correctly, it was, ‘that’s my game, bitch.’”
She slaps me. “Sub-zero wins.” Then she kisses me. So I think it’s more of a draw.
“Uh oh,” I say as soon as the kiss ends. While we were slapping and kissing, Lanyon advanced on the DS girl. He’s circling in an odd pattern.
“He looks like a drunken goose,” Katie says.
“Yeah, but he always does. Let’s get closer. I really want to hear how he screws this up.”
We creep along the food court tables and cozy up along the Foot Locker, which is adjacent to the bench, upon which DS girl is sitting. Lanyon draws in closer to her, but she hasn’t noticed him yet.
“It’s like he’s being pulled in by a confused tractor beam. Do guys always approach girls when they sit on benches?” Katie asks.
“Of course. It’s part of the mating ritual. If you are a female looking for a mate, you go to a mall bench at night and sit alone. Soon, a flock of gentleman callers will be at your feet.”
“Shhh. He’s moving in.”
Lanyon pauses just a few feet away. She still hasn’t looked up. He slaps at his head, as if that will fix his hair issues, and then he actually shuffles his shirt collar as though straightening out a tie. He’s wearing a t-shirt.
He sits down next to her. “Excuse me, miss.” She turns to look at him and her glasses slide a bit down her nose. “I believe you just failed your saving throw versus my charm spell.”
He smiles; she looks confused. For some reason, Katie and I high five each other.
Katie
Of course, the girl just looks annoyed and takes her purse and leaves. Lanyon sits on the bench, dejected. I drag George and we go over to comfort him. George looks at me as we sit, unsure how to proceed. I forget sometimes. They don’t do feelings. I don’t really do feelings, either, but this is a simple one.
“It’s okay, Lanyon. You’ll find someone,” I tell him.
“It’s hopeless. I can’t wait to go back to school.”
I turn to George and whisper, “Does he have better luck at school?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I don’t, either. And the food’s better. Plus, at school is Gauntlet.”
“I have Gauntlet on my N64. I can bring it over tonight.”
Lanyon looks at me, his heartbreak forgotten. “Fie upon your N64.”
“Should I even pretend I understand?” I ask.
George explains. “There’s a game room at school. It’s not that exciting, since, well, we all have consoles and playing on Live is usually better. But they have Gauntlet.”
I wait, but no one says anything. “Well? There’s no story?”
“Story? It’s Gauntlet,” Lanyon says.
“Oh. Okay.”
He lets out a big sigh, apparently remembering that he’s depressed. “I am such a loser.”
I pat his shoulder. “There, there, Lanyon. You’re not a loser. A winner is you.”
He turns and smiles. “Do you have any friends, Katie?”
I shrug. “You?” It’s not much, but it seems to appease him. “Why don’t we go to the game store?”
He nods. I don’t take George’s hand, feeling a little bad for Lanyon, but we’re barely across the mall before he turns around, slaps George hard across the face, and laughs. “Suck it. Raiden wins.”
George bends down and picks up his glasses, which were knocked off in the hit. He doesn’t say a word and just lets Lanyon lead us to the game store. DS girl is now only a distant memory.
***
Of course, we do nothing at the mall, and eventually we get bored. Lanyon begs George to stop by 7-11 to pick up snacks for the sleepover and, four plastic bags and nearly $60 later, we’re ready for one hell of a level up. We swing by my house so I can grab my character and change into pajama pants. I debate about changing out of the fancy bra and underwear, since it’s so far been useless, but opt to keep it on. One never knows.
Lanyon dumps his loot onto George’s bed. I grab two King Size Reese’s, a bag of Bugles, and my Code Red while George loads FDX. Lanyon opens a bag of salt and vinegar chips. As soon as the game’s loaded, George reaches a hand over to grab a few.
“Green warrior is about to die,” I say.
He looks down at the handful of chips and his green sweatshirt. “Me?”
I nod and offer him a Bugle. He sighs and returns the stinky potatoes to Lanyon. Who wastes no time inhaling them himself.
“All right, who’s ready to bring the pain?” Lanyon asks.
“How are you going to grind with us? Your character’s at your house,” George
reminds him.
“Oh, yeah. Um, maybe we can play Wii?”
“I thought the whole point was to level up so we can fight the secret boss?” I say.
“Nah, the point was for George to smack your boobs around.”
“Also not possible with you here,” George says.
“I’ll start a new character,” Lanyon offers. “I’ve got a hankering for Halfling.”
So, he starts again. He starts a level 1 Halfling. He levels up fairly fast, entirely by dying, spawning, and dying again immediately. George and I play for a while as Lanyon goes through this cycle and eats the snacks. Finally, he reaches level 12, so we agree to backtrack to an area where he can contribute. Although his contributions prove worthless, because Halflings have no attacks, magic, or really anything.
“What can you do?” George asks.
“I have maxed out charisma and intelligence.”
“Awesome. The next time we need to talk to a fire spore, we’ll let you know.”
“Heads up!” I shout. “Fire spore.”
George and his lute go up in flames, but the fire spore is still only a level 18. We kill the spore and Lanyon bumbles off to find treasure.
“Hey, look,” he says. “It’s the Emerald Key.”
“That’s three,” George says, getting excited. He begins running to the chest, but a small music melody plays and the treasure chest disappears. George spikes his controller down. “What did you just do?” he asks Lanyon.
Lanyon takes a bite out of a Snickers and smiles. “Emerald Key.”
I sigh. “Lanyon, you picked up the Emerald Key.”
He nods, grinning with teeth covered in nougat.
“Your Halfling picked up the Emerald Key,” I say.
Suddenly, he realizes what he’s done and he swallows hard. “Snickers?” he offers.
George
“How in the land of Zork do you expect to bring both keys with you if you are only one person with two characters, one of whom is a useless low level Halfling and on a different system? Hmmm?” I ask.
Lanyon shrugs.
“You screwed over our exciting secret boss hunt and you think a little head jiggle is going to make me happy?” More shrugging. Then the power goes out. “Balls. Be the man, autosave.”
