In Real Life

by Lawrence Tabak

  I nod. Wondering if it’s true.

  “Anyway,” I say. “I was thinking of talking to Song. About studying math in the U.S. You know, where I might go. How I might get in. Pay for it.”

  “Yeah, you definitely need to talk to Song,” Kim says. “If fact, let me give him a call. He lives only five minutes away.”

  When Song arrives I give him a shorter version of my sad story. But he doesn’t think it is sad. He keeps saying things like, “Very good,” and “All for the best.”

  “And you just took the SAT test today?” he asks.

  I nod. Kim and Annie and Song are all sitting in a circle with me, leaning towards me and speaking softly, as if Alex might be around the corner, trying to listen.

  “And how did it go?”

  I tell him that I thought I got all the math right. Unless I did something really stupid. And the English wasn’t as hard as I remember. And I thought I did OK on the essay. I chose the topic about whether or not the grading system in high schools should be revised. I did this essay on why it should be because it didn’t reflect the real world.

  “Think about it,” I say. “Let’s say you study three hours a day and get an A in math. And someone else gets an A without studying at all. If you have a job and it takes you ten times as long to do something, even if you do it just as well, you’re not nearly as valuable to the company. So I wrote about the need to add an effort component.”

  They all look a little puzzled.

  “Hey, it was just a stupid essay. Don’t worry. I made my case. I even made up a study to support my argument that I said was done at Yale. Who’s going to take the time to check it out…”

  They laugh at this.

  “So you are committed to this course,” Song says. “You are going to leave all this behind? I mean, you’re the only person I know who has been on the Tommy Min show.”

  “Or has his own soda,” Annie adds.

  And I realize, in a flash, that I must look to them so different than I look to myself. Like some sort of success prodigy. The amazing sixteen year old celebrity.

  “I’ve got a few ideas for you. Brown might be a really good match,” Song finally says. “Let me do a little work and I’ll bring you up to date in a few days.”

  “And no matter what you decide,” Annie says, “you know you are always welcome here, in this house. If it gets too bad for you downtown, with the team. You call. We’ll put up a cot in the playroom and you can stay with us.”

  “Absolutely,” says Kim. “It would be our great pleasure.”

  33.

  I’m ready to face Yeong the next day. But think better of it. I want to get things worked out first. Make sure I have an alternative. Access to the money in my account. Which is somewhere around $30,000 now, depending on the exchange rate.

  So I do my best to put up a good face. Smile at the guys at breakfast. Try to concentrate during the practice sessions.

  At the end of the week I get a call from Song. He says that he’s got some information for me. That we can go over it at Kim’s on Sunday.

  That takes the bite out of any initiative I have left. Yeong stops by and watches over my shoulder at morning practice, sniffing and grunting as I try to ramp it up under his eyes. He watches for about ten minutes and then walks away, not saying a thing.

  We have another dual match on Saturday and it’s against the Analogs, one of Anaconda’s biggest rivals. I’m praying Yeong comes to his senses and leaves me out of the lineup.

  So Saturday afternoon it’s the familiar scene. The team gathered back stage around Coach Yeong. The sound of the crowd in the background, fast-paced Korean pop music over the PA system. The team all dressed in our green snake shirts, shifting nervously. The outcome of these duals determines who makes the playoffs, and the bonus pool for the teams that make it is a big deal. A team can double their annual salaries by making it to the finals.

  Yeong calls out the names, one at a time. The tops dogs, Sang-Chul and Tae-Uk, and then another four names, all expected. Then coach looks directly at me and my heart falls.

  “ActionSeth,” he says.

  Immediately the other guys start moaning and shouting stuff out in Korean at Yeong. He waves his hand and puts on his best scowl. Then he begins berating the team in Korean, no translation necessary. And of course, we all know it has nothing to do with winning. It goes directly to the sponsors and endorsement deals. Which Yeong must get a huge cut on.

  Then before the players can say another word the PA system switches from music to voice and I know from the routine that the player introductions are about to begin.

  As the team heads toward the stage I get jostled from one side, then the other. One of the guys, I can’t even tell who in the scrum, leans in and grunts, “You win. Or else.” It’s amazing how much English these guys have when they need it.

  As the pairings are announced I have one hope. The Analog’s top player, Jun Hwa Jung, is the hottest guy on the circuit. The only guy on the team who has a chance against him is Sang-Chul, and I bet the coach would not like to see that matchup. Because Sang-Chul is automatic against anyone else on the Analogs. So if I draw Jun Hwa and lose, it really won’t hurt the team.

  But as the lineups are announced Jun Hwa draws our number four player and I get a matchup against one of Analog’s rookie pros. A match the team could expect to win.

  As the match slowly gets away from me I feel myself starting to sweat out my shirt. It’s not just losing. I’m furious at Yeong for putting me in this spot when he knows I’m not ready. I can already feel the heat from the other guys too. God knows what they’re going to do to me. Especially if the team loses.

  My loss is the first match done. I have to sit on the sidelines and watch the excruciating process as we win one, lose one, win one. And then drop the deciding match to lose 4-3. The van ride back is silent. I’m wondering if the guys are looking for an opportunity to jump me. I bet at least half of them studied martial arts. I can see them kicking the shit of me in some dark corner.

  So I’m the first one out of the van and I scramble up to my room, lock the door. I sit back on the couch with a sigh of relief. When my breathing gets back to normal I decide to do a little research on Brown. The home page has a video and it opens with these cool-looking buildings and then some dancers, backlit and in silhouette this one dancer looks just like Hannah and my heart just leaps. I check out the math department and the courses and only when I dig a little deeper do I realize the school’s right in the middle of Providence, Rhode Island. It’s a long way from Kansas, but a lot closer than Seoul. Then I remember Annie is from Providence. I make a mental note to ask her about what it’s like, living there.

  34.

  On Sunday Song is waiting for me when we get to the Kims’. He seems as pleased to see me as Alex, who must have been briefed on my availability. Alex runs up, gives me a big hug and then runs back to his playroom.

  “OK, OK,” Song says. “Sit down. I’ve got stuff for you.”

  He’s got a big folder and he motions me to sit next to him on the couch. He thumbs through it and shows me a couple printouts of forms.

  “I’ve talked to a few of my old colleagues in the Brown math department,” he says. “They say they’d be very interested in hearing from you. So here’s what you have to do.”

  He pulls out a page.

  “This is just the first page of the online application. You have to fill this out when you get home.”

  Attached is a checklist of things I need to do. Email North and get my high school transcript sent. I mentally add the same for UMKC. For letters of recommendations I’ve got Song. I have to get hold of my prof from UMKC and get him to write me a second one. Get Mom and Dad to fill out this complicated-looking form for financial aid. Make sure that Brown gets my SAT scores.

  “Th
is is also online,” Song says. Handing me another printout. It’s titled, Hershman Fellowships for Undergraduates. “Brown got his huge gift a few years ago. It provides for full scholarships, merit based. Make sure you fill it out carefully.”

  Then he shows me a handful of copies of the math paper.

  “This is your trump card,” he said. “I’ve already forwarded copies to the math department and I’ve emailed you an e-copy. You’re going to need to attach that to your Hershman application.”

  I just nod as he goes through it all. I mean, I still don’t know much about Brown. Kim said that they were known for their applied mathematics. They have a nice website. That’s about it.

  But I’ve got this feeling. Like a warm spot inside my chest that’s slowly expanding. A feeling that maybe things might work out after all. That I could go back home, see Hannah, go to college like a normal kid. Study stuff I liked and was good at. And throw the Team Anaconda laundry back in their faces. Or maybe just throw it out. Just to spite them. After I get my money out of the bank, of course.

  When I get back to my apartment I sit down at my laptop to find out more about Brown. But there’s a Skype message from Hannah. I call her on her computer, but she’s not online. So then I have to add some money to my account so I can call her cell.

  “Hey,” she says, picking up after the first ring. “When you didn’t answer? I was worried. Thought maybe you got strangled by those Anacondas.”

  “Funny,” I say.

  “So are you getting along better?”

  “Worse,” I say. “I dropped a match last week and the team lost 3-4.”

  “Doesn’t that mean that three other guys lost too?”

  “Sure, but that’s not the way they see it.”

  “No offense,” Hannah says. “But it sounds like those Koreans are really messed up.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. And I mean it.

  “No?”

  I want to tell her about the latest development. But it’s all so iffy. I can tell her when I know more for sure.

  “Anyway,” Hannah says. “I’ve got more good news!”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know we had the opening at the museum last week? It was so great. I got to meet the other kids. They had such amazing work. There’s one kid, from this magnet school in downtown Kansas City. He does these charcoal drawings that are so…”

  And in an instance I see what’s happened. Hannah and this artsy boy from the inner city. Hitting it off immediately. Soul mates. Sneaking off to some dark corner of the museum. And then, after the reception…

  “Sorry. I mean, you’d have to see his work to understand. Anyway, getting back to the good news. At the reception I met this really cool lady who runs a gallery. It’s in the Plaza. Right down the street from FAO Schwartz. I bet you’ve walked by it a million times.”

  “I can picture it,” I say. Although I can only really picture the toy store with its giant stuffed animals.

  “So she sees my photos and tracks me down. We chat about this and that. She asks if I have more work. So yesterday I take my whole portfolio to her gallery and I just about died. She says she’s interested in representing me. Picks out six photos. I have to get them printed up in a limited edition. She’s going to try to sell them for $400 each! I get $300 for each one she sells!”

  “That’s a lot of hours at Saviano’s,” I say.

  “No kidding. Plus she wants to see my new work as I do it. So who knows…I mean, Seth, I don’t know if you understand this. But to get represented at a gallery like this. It’s so unbelievable. I mean, there’s plenty of artists who’ve been studying and working for years. People with MFAs, who do really great work, who would kill to be in this spot. It’s just so unbelievable.”

  “I told you you were good,” I say.

  “Well, yeah you did. So maybe you do have a future as an art critic. In case this gaming thing doesn’t work out.”

  I’m thinking that it’s going to work itself out all right. And soon, if I have anything to do with it.

  “And I’ve got to email you this form. It’s a model release. For the kiss photo. Maybe you could print and sign it and scan it back?”

  “It’s going to cost you,” I say. “After all, I already have one big endorsement deal.”

  “How about I give you a percentage. If I ever sell one.”

  “How about we get together and practice making another one,” I blurt out. As soon as I say it, I’m sure I’ve crossed some line.

  And sure enough, there’s a silence.

  “Seth?” she finally says.

  “Yeah. I’m sorry…”

  “No. It’s just that it’s not the same. Here. With you away. I don’t know.”

  “What if I told you I was coming back?”

  “For a visit?”

  “For good.”

  “Seth, are you joking around?” I can’t tell if she’s excited or worried.

  “I’m serious. I’m not sure I can take it here much longer,” I say. “And I do have a return ticket.”

  I’ve had that ticket in my hand a few times over the past weeks. Sitting there in my apartment. Holding it and thinking about how easy it would be to call a cab and just head out to the airport. Without even a goodbye to my dear teammates.

  “If it’s as bad as you say, then you ought to just do it.”

  I’m thinking, that’s me. The just-do-it American.

  “But, Seth. It’s not going to be the same.”

  I’m not sure what she means. But I’m thinking it has to do with that tall guy in the environment club. Or the guy with the charcoal drawings.

  “OK,” I say. “I know…I’ve been gone a long time. And I know there are other guys…”

  “It’s not like that,” she says. “It’s just that it’s never the same. People go away. They come back. They’ve changed. Things change.”

  “I’m pretty sure I haven’t changed,” I say. “Although I do know how to bow a little.”

  “OK, wise-ass,” Hannah says. “You’re blond and have a weird haircut. Case closed.”

  “I can dye it back.”

  “Yes you can,” Hannah says. “And maybe you should. But in the meantime, just sign that form, will you?”

  I promise I will. But what I’m thinking is, be prepared. I might just deliver it in person.

  After she hangs up I get online, see what I can figure out about what courses I could be taking in the fall if this Brown thing works out.

  35.

  I have to get up on Monday for team breakfast. As soon as the alarm goes off I’m thinking about what I read the night before. About how little I know about colleges. For instance, Brown is in the Ivy League. Like Harvard and Yale. That’s how bad I’d fail a test on American universities. And then I’m thinking about my slack-off semesters at North. Why would a school like that be interested in me? Plus it costs like $60,000 a year, which is going to give Dad a heart attack if he finds out.

  He’d just remind me how Garrett got a free ride and graduated on time on top of it. Mom and Dad were so grateful they both showed up. Mom sent a bunch of blurry photos of the ceremony and Garrett in his graduation costume. Naturally, not a single photo of the three of them together.

  So I think about my salary and the bonus I might get if I hang in there the whole season. I keep swinging back and forth. Work my ass off and show these guys that I deserve to be on the team. Or just screw it and do as little as possible. See how long they’ll keep me.

  After breakfast Yeong pulls me aside.

  “No more Korean lessons. Not during season. You stay, work hard.”

  “Yes Coach,” I say. But what I’m thinking is, up yours. Even though the “best teacher in Seoul” is a fraud, it was better than hanging here all
day.

  But, like always when we do afternoon practice matches, I don’t have to fake it. I’ve always hated losing. I take two of the lower guys on the team into the third game in best of threes and probably should have won both of them.

  You know, it’s kind of the same thing Garrett told me once. He was out in the driveway, shooting free throws. I stood out on front stoop and watched him for a while. Two bounces, spin the ball, shoot. Retrieve the ball, do it again.

  “How can you stand to do that over and over,” I finally said. “For hours. It looks totally boring.”

  Garrett turned and looked at me. That look of total condescension.

  “You get better whether you’re bored or not.”

  I’m also finding out it takes forever to get all these forms completed and transcripts and scores sent. I go online every day and check out my admissions status. So far all they have is my electronic application. Meanwhile I imagine the number of openings dropping on a daily basis.

  I call Song up.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “You’re in a special situation. They don’t get many prospective students who are gamer pros who have co-authored a paper accepted for the Southeast Asian Mathematics Society annual meeting in June.”

  “They took it?”

  “Of course,” Song is saying. I can picture him grinning. “You did very good work.”

  “You did the work,” I insist, and I congratulate him. He says that I should plan on coming with him to present. That I would enjoy seeing Bangkok before I returned to the United States to start my promising career in mathematics.

  But it seems clear to me that I’m going to be around for a while. The pro league season goes all summer, with the playoffs in the fall. After the loss to the Analogs we’ve been picking up win after win. It looks like we’ll be in the playoffs for sure. And that could mean big bonuses.

  So I’ve got that working for me.

  36.

  I get emails from both Mom and Dad. They’re both freaked out about the FAFSA forms for college aid.