In Real Life

by Lawrence Tabak

  I tell her congratulations. But it’s not me that will be in the museum. It’ll be her.

  “You deserve it, Hannah. Your stuff is great.”

  “I don’t know about that. But thanks. At least someone liked them enough to put them into the show. I really, really wish you could be here for the opening. At the end of the month.”

  “Me too,” I say. But it’s not the exhibit I wish I could see. And touch. “Hey, do you have time to switch to your computer?”

  I cut the call and reconnect to her computer. She picks up after about fifteen seconds. The first thing I see is her broad smile.

  “Hey,” she says. “Are you getting blonder?!”

  “Maybe. The put this stinky stuff in my hair. But the hair guy, he doesn’t speak a word of English.”

  I knew she was going to say something about my hair. Koreans have some weird thing for blonds. I had tried to protest, but Yeong stepped in and told me to shut up.

  Hannah made a face. “Maybe it’s just the lighting. But it looks really, really blond.”

  My red face probably made it look worse. “No. You’re seeing right. Blond hair is really a big thing over here. Any Western celebrity, they get double visibility if they’re blond. And you should see these pop stars with bleached hair. It’s just wrong.”

  “Well, I think it looks fine. I’m just happy to be able to see you at all! Even if you kind of look like you’re moving like a puppet.”

  I try to sit really still.

  “So how’s it going?” Hannah asks. “Have you won any more tournaments?”

  “Not likely. But I did get some interesting news today.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, I just heard that every other player on the team petitioned the coach to get rid of me.”

  Silence. Then, “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. Serious. They hate me. I get all the attention. Get to play in matches when better players have to sit out. Make more money from endorsements. I’d hate me too.”

  “But, Seth. That’s awful. None of that is your fault. They should hate the coach or whoever is making those decisions. Not you.”

  “They want me to transfer over to the new English-speaking team.”

  “That makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “Not if you know who’s running that team. Remember that guy who was always harassing me back home, Stomp? He’s in charge. And he hates me worse than the Koreans. I am so totally screwed.”

  “Oh. That sucks. I mean, really sucks.”

  No argument from me.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know, Hannah. I just don’t know. But that’s great news about the museum thing. I really wish I could be there.”

  “Me too. They have this big exhibition party. String quartet. Fancy food. I’m really looking forward to seeing what the other students have done.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “That should be great.”

  “Hey one more thing,” I add. “I just heard from my English e-course. I got a B on the final paper. That means I’ll be graduating with you. I got this form letter from the school district. They want to know how I want my name to read in the graduation booklet. So look for me when it comes out, OK?”

  We chat for a few more minutes but I know it’s late back home and we only get a half-hour break for lunch. Then I have an hour of practice before I break for my now weekly Korean lesson. Which are still pretty awful, but I’m actually starting to look forward to them. Just getting away from the computer screen and the other guys. It’s actually not so bad.

  30.

  Usually on Friday Choi brings me the team laundry. But that night, after practice, someone knocks on the door. When I open it no one is there. But the big duffle of laundry is there. It seems extra heavy as I drag it in and as soon as I get it inside the door I realize that something is wrong. I gingerly pull the ties at the top and as I do an awful odor rises. I snap my head back and notice that the bottom third of the bag is wet.

  The whole team must have pissed in it.

  No wonder Sunday is turning out to be the best day of the week by far. No practice. Plus, I really enjoy visiting the Kims. Goofing around with little Alex, playing some stupid video game, just for fun. And the food is always great.

  The previous Sunday Annie had actually made pizza from scratch. And while it wasn’t quite Westport, or even Saviano’s, it was the most delicious meal I’d had in months.

  So on Saturday when I get a call from Kim asking if I could come over early, spend the afternoon, I say sure. He says that Song is going to be there too. Has some stuff to discuss.

  “Pick you up at noon?” he asks.

  While I’m waiting to get picked up I’m debating with myself whether I should tell Kim and Annie about what’s going on with the team. With me. Normally I never talk about stuff like that. I just figure I can work it out myself.

  Kim pulls up just on time, like always. As I step outside I realize that I don’t even need a hoodie. It must be the warmest day since I’ve arrived.

  “Hop in,” he says. And just hearing a stupid expression like that makes me instantly happy.

  “We’re going to take a little detour,” Kim announces. I ask what for, but he says it’s a surprise. All I can think of is that they’ve put another giant poster of me up downtown. I’m praying it’s something else.

  My prayers are answered when Kim scoots around a corner and suddenly we’re driving down a street that’s a tunnel of white flowers.

  “This is a very famous street,” Kim explains. “Yunjung-ro. See, at the end, that large building? That’s our National Assembly.”

  “Wow,” I say, as we cruise down the street, surrounded by white blossoms. Off to the right is a river, with more trees in blossom. Hundreds of Koreans are walking along a path under the trees.

  “Fourteen hundred cherry trees on this street alone,” Kim says. “It’s my favorite time of the year here in Seoul.”

  When we get back to Kim’s place I get a hug from Annie and Alex grabs my hand and drags me towards his playroom.

  “Honey,” Annie says. “You’re going to dislocate his arm! He’s not going anywhere—right Seth?”

  “Actually, I’m going to take on Korea’s number one eight year old Mario Karter.”

  Annie laughs and tells Alex that he can only have me for a bit, since Professor Song is coming over to talk.

  “Then we have to hurry,” Alex says, and I let him drag me toward the waiting controllers.

  “Something to drink?” Annie calls out.

  “Nothing for me,” I say.

  “Can I have a Coke?” Alex replies.

  “No you can’t have a Coke,” Annie says. “You know that.”

  “But this is special,” Alex pleads as we head down the hall. “ActionSeth is here!”

  I see Annie smiling and shaking her head as we duck through the doorway.

  Alex groans when Annie steps in to say that Professor Song has arrived. But I promise him that we can get in another game after dinner. That seems to satisfy him.

  When I step into the living room Song is sitting on the couch, with a manila folder in his lap. He jumps up, beaming, and bounds across the room to shake my hand.

  “Come. Sit down, sit down,” he says. “I have something very exciting to show you.”

  I follow him back to the couch and he opens up the folder so we can both read what’s inside.

  It’s a stapled paper. The title reads “Algorithmic Solutions to Optimizing Strategic Decisions in Starfare Cyber Games.” After this are two names in bold, Kyung Chan Song and Seth Armstrong Gordon.

  “How’d you know my middle name?” is the first idiotic thing I say.

  Song thankfully ignores me and says, “
You must forgive me, because the deadline was last week, and I needed to get a draft submitted. We can still change anything. Anything.”

  I pick up the paper and begin the thumb through it. It’s a compilation of the problems that we’ve been working on. All neatly laid out and full of academic jargon.

  “Wow,” I say. “This looks like a lot of work.”

  “The hard work was already done. Once you’ve done a few of these papers, the layout is simple.”

  “OK,” I say, not believing a word of it. The paper is about fourteen pages long. It would take me months to do anything close to this.

  “So anyway,” Song is saying. “I’ve sent it in for peer review for presentation to the annual meeting of the Southeast Asian Mathematical Society at the end of June in Bangkok. I’m very optimistic that it will be accepted. If so, we must arrange for you to help present.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, thinking that Song had written the entire thing.

  “Yes, yes. I insist. I am very optimistic. This is very interesting work. And it is yours.”

  “Not mine,” I protest, glancing through the paper. Reading some of the formulas. “I mean, I might have gotten started on some of these. But…”

  “Nonsense. Perfect example of collaboration. And I’m also going to send it to a few journals. After you’ve looked it over. It would be very prestigious for a young mathematician like you to get published. Very prestigious.”

  I’m thinking, mathematician? I’m the pitchman for a crappy orange soda. A mediocre Starfare pro. The Korean national seventeen-and-under champ. But mathematician?

  Kim and Annie enter the room, like they had been prompted. Kim shakes my hand and says he is very proud of my work. Annie is beaming like I’m related.

  And here I was going to get them all together and tell them that my life was falling apart. Which when I think about it, it still is. Some obscure math paper is not going to change that.

  I’m sure they’re all wondering why I’m so somber during dinner. Afterwards I just say that I’m not feeling that well and ask if it’s OK for Kim to take me home early. Alex is crestfallen but I really need some time alone.

  When I get back to my apartment, I look at my IMs and messages. Check my phone for texts. Flip through the Korean TV channels and then say, the hell with it. Grab a sweatshirt and head downstairs and onto the street, waving for a cab.

  When a taxi finally pulls over I try “naiteu keuleob”—nightclub. Then, “Helios.” He seems to understand.

  31.

  I must be early because there’s no line outside. But I still have to pay a cover charge. And the music is just as loud, even though the dance floor is mostly empty. I scoot around the edge of the room to the bar and get a Coke. Try to remember where the stairs are to the upstairs lounge. Keeping an eye out for the girl with the red streak. Sumi. I would really prefer not to see her.

  I find the stairs, make my way through the doors. The music dimming behind me. At first I think the booth in the back is empty but when I get close I see two people sitting with drinks. The Australian guy and Sarah, the girl whose parents I met in customs.

  “Well, look who’s here,” the Aussie says. “It’s Gamer Boy. Come on, lots of room, mate.”

  As I sit down he says, “Guy Hamilton. In case you forgot. And this is…”

  “Sarah,” I interrupt.

  “Hello, Seth,” she says. “We’ve been wondering if you would make it back.”

  Guy points at my drink. “You got some ActionOrange there?”

  I shake my head. “Have you tried that slop? Tastes like poison, like Agent Orange, if you ask me.”

  Maybe they’ve been drinking for a while, because they both seem to think this is hilarious.

  I slide into the booth on Sarah’s side.

  “So, we spent a whole Sunday talking about you,” Sarah says. “You know, after that picture showed up in the tabloids. We figured you got a little heat over that.”

  “More like a lot,” I said. “I was really worried that I’d see that girl again.”

  “Don’t worry,” Guy says. “We’ll protect you. Right, Sarah?”

  “Like a mother bear protects her cubs.”

  I ask them how things are going at their jobs and they both groan.

  “We come here to forget that stuff,” Guy says. “So how about you? Haven’t seen you on TV lately. Other than that commercial.”

  “Don’t remind me,” I say. I try to make light of it all, but Sarah is immediately on to me. She keeps saying that something must be wrong. That she can tell. And between the two of them they sort of squeeze it out of me. How the team has rejected me. How I’ve lost the spark. That the only good stuff has nothing to do with Team Anaconda. And I tell them about the work I’ve been doing with the math professor.

  After I’ve told them I feel a little better. But lame too, for pouring all this personal stuff on people I hardly know. I almost mention Hannah seeing that picture of Sumi, but that would mean explaining me and Hannah. And how can I explain something I don’t even really understand?

  But Sarah seems really interested. And disturbed.

  “So what are you going to do?” she says. “You know this is never going to work, right? They’re not interested in you. And I don’t mean just helping you become the best player you could be. They’re just using you to help with the ratings, to sell soda.”

  I don’t know what to say. Because hearing it like that, I know it’s true. I’ll never overcome the language barrier. The players are never going to accept me. I could stay with Team Anaconda for years and still be a second-tier player.

  “You’ve got family at home—right?” Sarah asks.

  “Sort of,” I say. And tell them about how my mom has joined some sort of cult. And my dad, always on the road. “Personally, I’ve been trying to figure out how I could wrap things up and start college.”

  “So you could get a degree, come back and teach English like us, right?” Guy says, with a sad smile.

  “But I don’t know,” I said. “I think I screwed that up too. It’s so late. Kids are already getting acceptance letters.”

  “You taken your boards?” Sarah asks.

  I give her a lost look.

  “You know, like SATs.”

  “Oh, of course,” I say. “Well, sort of. I took them in eighth grade.”

  “People take SATs in eighth grade?” Sarah asks.

  “It was some sort of talent identification program thing,” I said. “You take the SATs and then a bunch of colleges try to get you come for these really expensive summer programs.”

  “So what did you get?” Guy says.

  “Get?”

  “You know. On the test.”

  “Oh, I don’t remember exactly,” I say. “I know I made this stupid mistake on one of the math questions. So I got a 760 there. And on the English. I’m not that good. I think I just barely got 700. We didn’t have to do the essay.”

  “Christ, that would be 1460,” Sarah says. “And you were, what? Fourteen?”

  “Thirteen,” I say. “I sort of skipped a grade somewhere in there.”

  Sarah and Guy exchange glances.

  “You should take it again,” Sarah says. “It’s not too late. I’ve got a couple of kids taking it again in three weeks. You’ve got a couple days before the deadline. Sign up.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “It’s complicated. I’d have to get permission. Figure out where it is. How to get there.”

  “Bullshit,” Sarah says. Pulls out her cell and makes me give her my number. “I’ll text you the url and you sign up. You do have a credit card?”

  I nod.

  “Ok, now give me your address.” She keys that in too. “You sign up and I’ll pick you up. It’s given on Sundays her
e. That’s your day off?”

  I nod again.

  “Fine. I’ll pick you up and take you to the test. Least I can do.”

  And when I cab home a few hours later, I go online and sign up for the SATs. I just hope they don’t have any questions on the last half of The Scarlet Letter.

  32.

  So three weeks later, I’m sitting at dinner with Kim and Annie and say, “Guess what I did this morning?”

  The two of them look at each other and shrug.

  “Beat the world record for Mario Kart?” Alex guesses.

  “Not quite,” I say. “I took the SATs.”

  Kim and Annie exchange another sort of look.

  “I’m thinking of winding down my Starfare career.” And realize that it’s the first time I’ve actually said it out loud. It feels surprisingly good.

  “But you just started,” Alex squeals. “You haven’t won the World Championship yet.”

  “Well, that’s true,” I admit as Annie gently tries to shush Alex.

  “Why don’t we talk about this after dinner?” Annie says, shooting at glance at Alex. I nod and turn to him and say, “So what’s this I hear about a school trip to the natural history museum?”

  “They’ve got a huge shark!” Alex says. “His teeth are this tall!” He holds his hands as far apart as possible. “I mean it’s not a live shark. It’s shark bones. But it’s huge!”

  We let Alex finish his tour of the museum. And then Annie sends him to play some games. And I tell them about the problems with the team. I leave out the pissing in the laundry thing.

  “It’s just not working,” I say.

  Annie looks so sad I think she’s going to cry.

  “Oh Seth,” she finally says. “We had no idea. We were like Alex. We thought you were living a dream.”

  “Oh I am,” I said. “This was exactly what I wanted. It’s just that I had no way of knowing…”

  “No, you couldn’t have,” said Kim. “But you are so young. And have so many options.”