Josh Baxter Levels Up

by Gavin Brown

  “Hey, Peter,” I say when he sits down across from me.

  “ ’Sup, Bax?” he answers.

  “Are you guys doing the Video Game Decathlon? I’m kind of … looking for a team.” It comes out so lamely, but for a second it feels good to have it out there in the world instead of rattling around inside my head.

  Peter shrugs and grumbles, and I feel like an idiot for asking.

  He sits there for a minute, looking sour. Finally he turns to me and shrugs.

  “Don’t feel bad, man. We were going to ask you, since teams can be up to six,” he says. Which is a nice thought, but my stomach drops out from the hopelessness in his voice. “But Mittens and his student council friends got ahold of it,” he continues. “They changed the format. It’s got a bunch of sports games now. We don’t play that junk.”

  As Peter is talking, Chen drops his backpack and slides into the seat behind him.

  “You guys talking Decathlon?” He almost growls after he says it. “I can’t believe they changed it so much. It’s barely even the same thing anymore.”

  “Last year Chen and I got knocked out in the semifinals when it came down to us versus Maya and Taniko,” Peter explains. “When we heard they were changing the game list, we decided to join forces to stay competitive. Also, I’m trying to get Chen to talk to Taniko more, ’cause he has a ginormous crush.”

  “Shut up,” Chen says. “You know that it can never happen.”

  “Dude …” Peter starts to argue, then shrugs and gives up, as if he knows how this conversation will go from previous attempts. “Anyway, when the student council released the final list, it had changed too much. There’s a bunch of sports games on there now. NBA 2K-something, Football something, NCAA whatever …”

  “NCAA Soccer. I don’t think anyone even watches that on TV, let alone plays the game. I don’t know how to play that stuff,” Chen says, making a face like he’s about to puke. “I don’t think they’re even real games. The student council said they ‘wanted to be more inclusive.’ Which means they want it to be more inclusive of us losing.”

  Peter shakes his head. “So we all got together last week and decided not to do it. Let the jocks win without us competing. That way it won’t mean anything.”

  I’ve gotten so excited I have to grip the edge of my desk to keep steady.

  “I’ve been playing those games since I was a little kid. My dad and I used to … we would always …” I struggle to get it out. “Anyway, I’ve been playing those games for years. I can play them, and I can show you guys how to play for the team ones.”

  Peter gives me a long look and raises an eyebrow. “Really? How good are you?”

  I wonder how skilled I really am. But would Lancelot back down? No, I don’t think so. “Good enough,” I say with confidence that I don’t feel. “I’ll show you.”

  Peter shrugs. “Okay, let’s talk it over with the girls at lunch.”

  Chen’s lip curls up. “I want to destroy them.”

  We both look at him.

  “The jocks, not the girls!”

  Unfortunately, I don’t start off lunch that day with a persuasive argument uniting us all behind one common goal. It doesn’t quite go like that.

  “Captain America is a meathead with a dinner plate, and Thor is a Labrador retriever with a comically large hammer. Iron Man is a billionaire industrialist!” Peter is saying when I walk up and put my tray down.

  “Hulk is a brilliant research doctor, at least when he’s not big and green,” Chen says, clearly repeating himself. “Why don’t you even mention him?”

  “Iron Man is a scientist, too,” Peter answers. “And he makes things people actually want to use!”

  “Uh, what’s up, guys?” I mutter as I sit down.

  “Smartest Avenger,” Maya explains. “It’s obviously Black Widow, but they’re not listening to me.”

  “Loki,” Taniko says.

  “Doesn’t count!” Chen protests. “He’s a villain!”

  “Loki,” Taniko insists. “He ‘avenges’ with the rest of them when it suits his goals.”

  “What exactly are they supposed to be avenging?” I say, hoping to derail the conversation. “They should be called the Mostly Bad at Teamwork World-Saving Group.”

  It doesn’t work. They dive in further, pulling out a variety of obscure backstory trivia that I’ve never heard of.

  “Do you know that Iron Man and Hulk both have multiple PhDs?” Taniko says at one point. “The five most famous Avengers actually have an average of 1.2 PhDs each.”

  I want to smack my head over and over with my math textbook. Where do my friends find the time?

  I hope the Video Game Decathlon will come up naturally at some point, but as lunchtime runs out, I realize that it’s not going to be so easy.

  In games, you show up and the boss battles happen. You walk in, dodge the cannonballs, shoot some arrows, and you win. In real life, if you want those experience points, it’s a little more complicated. Cannonballs and spike pits are more straightforward than conversations. Sometimes it’s easier to be Hercules and reroute a river than it is to change the course of a discussion.

  “Hawkeye is definitely not the smartest,” I toss into the fray. Everyone nods. There is a moment of silence, due to the fact that my statement is immune to counterargument. I open my mouth to say something about the Decathlon, but before I can, Taniko jumps in to say that Loki’s mastery of the art of dark sorcery is equivalent to Iron Man’s education in mechanical engineering.

  One of the facts of life at Howard Taft Middle School that you have to accept: the Whirlwind can get out a complete thought before you can finish your first word.

  Finally, another moment of silence falls.

  “Video Game Decathlon,” I blurt out. “We should do it.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right. We were going to talk about that,” Peter says, as if he’s waking up from an amnesia spell. “Josh is sick at sports games. So, back on?”

  “Sure!” Taniko answers. Maya shrugs, but everyone seems to take it as a yes.

  “So what should we call ourselves? I’ve already got a list of ideas!” Taniko asks as she pulls a page out of her notebook.

  And of course she does. The Whirlwind is always one step ahead.

  But none of Taniko’s names are a big hit, and the debate begins.

  Maya wants names that sound like cool bands no one has ever heard of, like The Vivid or Stalwart.

  “Gloves Are Better,” Peter suggests with a snicker. I clench my jaw and shake my head. I don’t need Mittens any madder at me than he already is. Another fight and my mom will probably throw my video game systems into the city reservoir.

  “If we’re doing clothes, why not Socks with Sandals?” Taniko suggests, with a disapproving glance at Chen’s feet.

  “Link to the Internet,” I throw out. I’ve always liked the puns in the titles of Zelda games.

  Finally, with one minute left in the lunch period, we settle on a name that no one hates: The Tap-Dancing Stormtroopers. It was actually the third name on Taniko’s original list.

  “Okay okay okay, but someone has to go sign up!” Taniko says as soon as the delicate negotiation is complete. Nothing gets the Whirlwind going more than a deadline, and teachers are starting to usher kids out of the cafeteria.

  “Social studies always starts a couple minutes late. I’ll take care of it,” I offer.

  I practically run to the office, hoping to sign up and make it back to class in time, but it turns out that we aren’t the only group who are joining at the last minute. I have to stand in line, with time ticking down as other kids sign their names.

  Finally I get to the front and am able to scrawl out our names. I’m a pretty good artist, but somehow that doesn’t translate into good handwriting, especially when I’m rushed. And I butcher Taniko’s last name. But I forget about that completely when I hear the voice behind me.

  “Hurry it up, Creep.” It’s the sound of pure evil. My nemesis.
Schmittendorf’s voice has become almost painful to hear, like the screech of metal against metal.

  I spin around, and he leans in to look at the list. “They decided to actually compete, huh?” His breath is rancid with sloppy joes from lunch, and I find myself wishing I could make a called shot to toss a breath mint into his maw.

  I’d need to level up my throwing accuracy, though. And maybe learn a Conjure Breath Mint spell. I don’t know of any magic shops in the area that sell that sort of thing.

  “Yeah,” I answer with a shrug.

  “Don’t forget I’m the champ, Creep. We’re gonna annihilate you,” he says. “I don’t lose. Not to creeps like you. At anything.”

  “Whatever, man,” I say, stepping carefully around him and moving for the door.

  “If you win by some cheat,” he hisses as I walk out, “I will end you.”

  The stench of the Mitten Monster’s breath and the sound of his voice cling to me all day. I have to take a shower as soon as I get home from school. The last time I did that was when we had a straight-up food fight in fourth grade and I had tapioca pudding in my hair and turkey gravy in my ear.

  Despite the ravages of the Mitten Monster, when I wake up these days, I feel more than good. I’m alive again. I practically jump out of bed and put on my favorite shirt: Bilbo Baggins facing off against a giant-sized Yoshi in the Lonely Mountain.

  By the time I’m walking through the doors at school, I’m mentally tallying up the experience points I’ll award myself for successfully turning in all my homework and getting 9/10 on a social studies quiz. The chart hanging on my bedroom wall started out shaky, but now I have a chain of solid experience points earned every day for a couple weeks.

  “Hey, Josh,” Maya calls out, her backpack jangling as she jogs to catch up.

  “Oh, hey,” I answer, slowing to let her join me. Hearing my name in her voice leaves a flutter in my stomach—a little excited, and a little scared, too.

  “So I heard something funny today,” she says, and I know that it’s not funny in a laughing way. She sounds concerned.

  “What’s that?” I say as we continue toward the busses.

  “When I was in science doing a lab, I heard Henry Schmittendorf talk about how he scared you when you were signing up for the Decathlon.”

  I decide to play it cool.

  “Not really,” I say, giving an exaggerated shrug.

  She steps in front of me, glaring. I stop short, staring into her eyes.

  “Really? You’re not scared of him? Not at all?”

  I’m transfixed by her gaze. I don’t think I can lie straight to her face.

  “Well, of course I’m scared of him. He’s like Bowser, but worse,” I say, then sputter for a second, trying to figure out how to spin it. “But … but … I didn’t show it! I’m not a total idiot!” If I can’t be a tough guy, maybe I can settle for endearingly awkward?

  Maya sighs and rolls her eyes. “Josh, this is serious. After that, he said, ‘And by the Decathlon, the football season will be over. No games to miss if I get suspended.’ Josh, I think he wants to fight you again.”

  “So? I’ll beat him up again.”

  “Um, Josh … you realize I saw that fight, right? You have the combat readiness of a limp trout.”

  “Great metaphor,” I say sarcastically. Ms. Pritchard forced us to spend a full class period coming up with metaphors the previous week. “But, you know, if you accelerate it to Mach 3, a trout to the face can actually be fatal.”

  She glares at me.

  “Game, set, checkmate. The winner is … Josh Baxter!” I finish.

  “You are so weird.”

  “A cool, sophisticated kind of weird,” I say, pretending to be thoughtful.

  “Sure, buddy. Whatever you say.”

  We walk silently for a few seconds.

  “You know what the dumbest part of this whole thing is?” I say. “I actually like football. I used to play Madden all the time. If Mittens wasn’t a massive jerk, I’d probably be going to the games and rooting for him.”

  “Really? You like football?” Maya raises an eyebrow. “Total weirdo,” she says, as she steps onto her bus. But I think I catch a smile on her face as she disappears up the steps.

  I mentally add a nice experience point bonus to throw on the board tonight. Maybe not a touchdown, but definitely a field goal or a safety.

  “I saw you with that girl again.” Lindsay practically pounces on me when I walk in the door. Leave it to Lindsay to be looking out the window of the high school bus while Maya and I were talking.

  “Huh? Oh, Maya?” I answer. Playing dumb, because I can already tell where she’s going with this, and I definitely don’t need my sister blabbing about my “cute puppy love” to anyone who will listen, like she did when I had a crush on Tanya Phillips in second grade.

  Lindsay smiles at me. The evil smile of someone who knows that she’s right, even if you won’t admit it.

  “So you’re going to ask her to the holiday dance, right?” She punches me lightly on the arm. She can see how uncomfortable this is making me. And she loves it.

  “Uh … I don’t know,” I stutter. I can’t fathom why she’s interested in this. I certainly don’t care what boy she has a crush on!

  “You have to do it, Josh. Don’t you get it? Girls want to be asked out. And Maya wants you to ask her out. I can see it in her body language.”

  “Huh?” I’ve heard the phrase before, but always in terms of being confident or scared or whatever. Can you talk with how you move? “Are you some kind of psychic, who can read people’s thoughts from looking at them?” I ask. It actually seems like a pretty sweet superpower to have.

  “Ugh, Josh, you are such a weirdo. But—yeah, basically. That’s how it works.”

  Whoa. My sister is, like, an oracle or something.

  “Well …” I consider the situation. “If she’s interested, why doesn’t she ask me out?”

  Lindsay throws her hands up in exasperation. “Because she’s probably shy, dummy. Look, it’s fine for a girl to ask a boy out. I’ve done it before. But it’s hard. And she’ll be much more impressed with you if you do it.”

  “She’s shy?” That’s not really the Maya I know. “She doesn’t seem—”

  “Dude, everybody is shy when they’re asking someone out for the first time. Do you, like, know anything about love?” she asks, her blond hair waving as she shakes her head.

  Once she’s planted the idea in my head, I can’t shake it. Can I ask Maya out? Is she really interested in me? The thought stalks me all through the next day, making it impossible to concentrate on my schoolwork. Mr. Ramirez could be giving out the winning lottery numbers in the middle of math class, and I’d probably ignore him and be stuck in school forever while other kids spend the rest of their lives riding Jet Skis in the Bahamas.

  This whole “body language” thing seems pretty cool, but trusting Lindsay has gotten me into trouble before. Ever since the “habanero chili pepper incident”—when she said it would be fine and I ended up downing an entire carton of milk in seven seconds to try to counteract the unholy fireball that erupted in my mouth—I’ve been cautious about following her advice.

  On the other hand, her social life is certainly worlds better than mine. But even if I choose to believe her, that doesn’t help with the fact that thinking about asking Maya out terrifies me. It makes me want to grow a massive beard, flee into the mountains, and spend the rest of my life talking to no one but the mountain goats. So yeah, it’s a pretty scary prospect.

  My feeling of dread gets worse at lunch when I’m explaining to Chen my system for judging how hard to drift around corners in Mario Kart, and he stares off into the distance and changes the topic completely.

  “Should I ask Taniko to the holiday dance?” he says, without any sort of introduction or transition.

  “Uh … do you want to?” This would be a much better job for my sister, the Oracle. I’m too busy with my own thoughts abo
ut asking Maya to really focus on him, but I try to rein it in.

  “Well yeah, of course,” he says. “But I don’t think my parents will let me.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “My dad.” He shrugs, like that ends the subject.

  “Okay … what’s his big issue?”

  “He’s super traditional. My mom’s family have been here for, like, a billion generations, but my dad really wants me to date a Chinese girl. It’s not up for debate with him.”

  “Okay. Well, what do you want to do?”

  He shakes his head and looks totally defeated. I feel kind of bad. I’m having all this trouble facing my quest of asking Maya out, and because of his parents, Chen isn’t even allowed to try.

  “Can you talk to them?” I ask. “Tell them how you feel? It’s the modern world now. Things have changed.”

  Chen shrugs and looks away. “Nah, man. Not worth it. Anyway …” He glances meaningfully behind me, where Taniko and Maya are approaching the table.

  “Oh my gosh, Maya, you have to go watch the trailer,” Taniko is saying as she sits down. “The bunnies will be able to build spaceships and fly them to other planets! We should put space bunnies in our game!”

  Our game? I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.

  Having friends is great—but some days it’s also pretty weird.

  At the beginning of the year, Ms. Pritchard stood in front of the class and said that we “can make whatever thesis statement you want in your essays, as long as you support it with evidence.” I took this as a gauntlet thrown down, a personal quest for me to make the most insane thesis statement possible and then back it up with some sort of argument.

  For my latest essay, I claimed that the lunch ladies served human meat on Sloppy Joe Fridays. And believe me, I have piles of evidence to prove my point, starting with the fact that I’ve never once seen a lunch lady or teacher eat cafeteria food. And they don’t have Sloppy Joe Fridays in the summer, which is precisely when they don’t have any students around to cannibalize! It all makes sense.