Chomp goes the other half. It’s pretty awesome.
But then I started thinking about all the coding I had to do tonight. Suddenly, the soft-serve tasted sour to me. I didn’t have time for frozen treats. I didn’t have time for anything else.
“You okay, buddy?” my dad asked.
For a second I wanted to tell him the truth. But I could easily imagine Dad freaking out and making me take the whole game down. Which would disappoint the entire city, not to mention CyberGirl03.
“Yeah, Dad. Just have a lot of homework waiting for me.”
Dad nodded. “I know how you feel. When work piles up it can feel overwhelming. So, what you do is take a deep breath and make a list. Tackle one thing at a time. The world won’t fall apart in the meantime.”
I couldn’t help it. Dad meant well, but in this case he had no idea what he was talking about. Make a list? Was he being serious? Making a list of all the bugs I had to fix would pretty much take me all night.
And then I’d still have to deal with the bugs!
“What’s due first, bud?” Dad continued. “English? Social studies? Math?”
“Dad!” I yelled. “Stop, please. That’s not going to help!”
My dad looked like I’d shoved my ice cream cone in his face. And I felt awful about it. (Even Pickleback looked at me, confused.) I know he was just trying to help, but he couldn’t.
“Okay,” he finally said. “I know you’ll get it all done. But I’m here if you need me.”
As we walked home I felt like the gross slime at the bottom of a river. I could imagine a gang of Lerkians hanging off power lines and traffic lines, pointing at me and laughing.
What a dope! This world is pretty much ours!
WHO YOU CALLIN’ CHICKEN?
One week. That’s all I had left.
Not even a full week. I had five days. Wait, no…
Four!
Because today was Monday, and the Hecklr show was scheduled for this Friday, which meant I had four days and nights to make sure the game was completely stable. I was in serious trouble.
Needless to say, Dad was right. A Hecklr show was being produced by a video game channel, but it wasn’t a cable station. (That’s Coach Bean for you: stuck in the eighties when it comes to pop culture. The 1880s.)
No, it was only ChickenHead LavaLamp, the crazy-popular YouTube channel with something like a bazillion followers and a gazillion-billion likes. Started by some fifteen-year-old kid in his parents’ attic, the site has grown over the past two years to become the respected authority in all things gaming. The fact that ChickenHead LavaLamp even heard about Hecklr made my brain twitch a little.
But the idea that ChickenHead LavaLamp is going to be streaming a live game this Friday made my heart seize up with raw fear.
In fact, the very idea made my heart want to pack up and book a one-way trip to Antarctica.
I mean seriously—ChickenHead LavaLamp! When the channel’s fifteen-year-old creator was trying to think up a name, he happened to see his parents’ old lava lamp in their attic. And that lava was shaped like the head of a you-know-what. He had no idea that ChickenHead LavaLamp would become a multimillion-dollar empire in just two years. (Pretty sure if he knew, he would have picked a different name.)
The sad truth is, I can’t run away from this. Sure, I could pull the whole game down, but that would please exactly nobody. I could just let it run—bugs and all—but that would crush me more than anybody. I’m proud of the game!
And then what if someday it came out that I was the game creator? What would CyberGirl think of me? Or more importantly—my dad? I couldn’t deal with how disappointed he’d be.
All I could do was keep coding. And de-bugging.
For three days, I spent every spare moment coding. And de-bugging. And coding. And de-bugging.
Nick the Mimic tried his best to distract me. I’d be huddled over my phone, thumbs flying as I coded like crazy, and then I’d feel something. Eyes on me. I’d look up only to find Nick staring at me, eyes crossed, and his thumbs tapping on an imaginary cell phone. And then he’d start in with a robot voice:
“I. Am. Barth. Ol. Oh. Mew. I. Am. Only. Happy. Doing. Math. Problems. I. Am. Not. Human. Un. Plug. Me. Please.”
Then I’d go back to coding. But of course, I’d have that stupid robot voice in my head for the next hour.
During those four desperate days, if I wasn’t coding and de-bugging, I was walking somewhere. Like, to my next class. Or to the cafeteria. Or to the men’s room. (But let me tell you, I was still thinking about coding and de-bugging… even in there.)
The problem was that whenever I decided to walk somewhere, Giselle would somehow, miraculously find me.
Every day brought a new collision, each one worse than the day before. And each time I found myself scrambling to make sure my phone didn’t go flying through a window or under a herd of my classmates rushing to the next period. I was treated to a painful and embarrassing Giselle Body Check™ each day of the most frantic week of my life:
Monday: boom!
Tuesday: ka-boom!
Wednesday. KA-BLAM!
Thursday: [Insert your favorite Hollywood-style mega-explosion sound effect here.]
The only time I’m truly alone—with no threat of Nick making fun of me or Giselle barreling into me or Dad telling me to put away my electronic devices—is during lunch period.
Food? Hah, what is this food you speak of? These days, I eat nothing but symbols and numbers. I find the quietest corner of the cafeteria and continue coding in peace.
And that’s where I was the day before ChickenHead LavaLamp was all set to stream a live game of Hecklr at Rancho Verdugo High. After four days of nonstop work, I was finally feeling good about the stability of the game. I might even be finished by dinnertime, which would certainly make Dad happy.
I was lost in a bit of code when suddenly the phone in my hands… disappeared.
What the hey?
I looked around in a panic, wondering what could have happened. Was I coding so hard that I caused the phone to disintegrate?
Then I heard a voice to my left.
“Just need to borrow it for a while.”
I pinpointed the owner of that voice. Oh, no… it was Tigran the Tyrant! With my phone in his hands! And then he disappeared into the busy lunch crowd.
ALL CODING AND NO FUN MAKE BART A BORING BOY
I’m not proud of myself. But I kind of… snapped.
Before snapping completely, however, I tried to get my phone back. The thing with Tigran is that you can never accuse him of stealing something. Because he’s not exactly stealing. He’s just borrowing it for a while.
I’ve seen it happen to other kids. If they’re foolish enough to go to a teacher, then Tigran just shrugs and hands over whatever he’s “borrowed.” The accuser ends up looking like an oversensitive jerk. It’s stunning, really.
But this time I didn’t care about looking like a jerk. I needed my phone! So I ran through the halls, looking for the top of Tigran’s head among the sea of students. He couldn’t have gotten that far.
“Mister Bean!”
I skidded to a loud, squeaky halt. Mister Bean? Was my dad around here somewhere?
“Over here, Bart.”
I turned to face Mr. Lopez, who had his arms crossed and everything. Which meant he was not happy. Well, good. Because neither was I.
“Mr. Lopez, excellent! Look, I need your help.”
“Bart, stop,” he said, lifting a single hand, keeping his arms crossed. “You know the rules about running in the hallway. Do you know how dangerous that is?”
“But, Tigran—”
“I didn’t see Tigran running. I saw you running. So, to slow you down, I’m giving you detention.”
“What?”
Mr. Lopez blinked. I don’t think he knew my voice could be that loud. But he recovered quickly enough. “Care to make it two days, Mr. Bean?”
No, Mr. Bean did not care
to make it two days. One excruciating hour of after-school detention was more than enough. Every second that ticked by reminded me of all the coding I wasn’t doing.
Staying after school? Dude, what did you do to end up here? Did you accidentally make the principal fall asleep? Are you here to make everybody in detention fall asleep? Wait… am I already asleep, and dreaming that you’re in detention? And if you’re here in my dream, will I ever wake up, because you’re so crazy boring I might fall asleep inside this dream?”
I gritted my teeth and said nothing. I gritted my teeth so hard my entire body practically hummed. Because I knew that if I talked back, a teacher would pop out of nowhere and make me stay another hour.
The moment the late bell rang, I was out of my seat like a rocket, out the front doors, down to Rancho Verdugo Boulevard, racing all the way home, when, of course—
Ka-pow.
Giselle.
So, yeah, like I said. I kinda snapped.
But unlike most people my age, I didn’t snap in the traditional sense—yelling, screaming, throwing a tantrum, hijacking a bus and ordering it to drive all the way to Hawaii, etc. No, my version of snapping is much more subtle—more sublime, one might say. (Don’t worry; I had to look that word up, too.)
My version of “snapping” was hitting my laptop for an all-night coding session. But my mission now went beyond making Hecklr stable for its big debut on ChickenHead LavaLamp tomorrow.
No, I had a completely different update in mind.
THE BIG TO-DO
Yo yo yo! Live! From Rancho Verdugo! It’s ChickenHead LavaLamp, y’all, streaming the game everybody wants to play… Hecklr!”
The kid with a microphone on the stage wasn’t the creator of ChickenHead LavaLamp. (I think that kid is busy counting gold bullion in one of his Malibu estates.) Instead, he was one of the channel’s online hosts, “Commander Magma,” a YouTube star I’ve watched online for months now, and as much as I like to be all “whatever” about these kinds of things…
I had to admit: this was all seriously cool.
The high school athletic field—usually my dad’s domain—had been transformed into a gamer’s paradise. There was a stage in front of a fifty-foot jumbotron, where all the exciting Hecklr action would happen.
There were screens behind the bleachers, too, so the spectators could watch every pulse-pounding second of Lerkian-busting action, no matter where they were sitting. Plus, there were food trucks parked up and down the street, and college kids giving away free samples of snacks, and laser lights, and USB charging stations, and some DJ playing PC Music, and…
Oh, it was all so glorious.
“Up until now,” Commander Magma said, “very few people on the planet Earth have been able to play this underground reality game called HEEEEEECK-LUHRRRRRRRR!”
The audience went insane.
“Unless you happened to live in Rancho Verdugo, or traveled here on vacation, you’ve totally missed out on one of the coolest games ever.”
I’ll admit it—my ego swelled up so fast that if I’d been wearing a baseball cap, it probably would have popped off the top of my head.
“So far, the elusive creator—or creators—behind Hecklr has remained in the shadows. But maybe this will inspire them to reveal themselves.”
High up in the bleachers, I thought: Uh, fat chance, dude.
“Because tonight,” Commander Magma continued, “for the first time ever, we’re proud to present a live streaming game of Hecklr so you all can check it out for yourselves!”
Again, the audience went cray-cray. I went a little cray right along with them. Which I know is weird, cheering myself. But it would look weirder if I didn’t shout and pump my fists, right?
Meanwhile, Dad was down on the field itself along with the rest of the Rancho Verdugo High School faculty. They had been pressed into service this evening to help keep the crowd—mostly high schoolers and middle schoolers—under control. The look on Dad’s face was priceless. He understood exactly none of this, I’m sure. I could imagine him grousing. Commander Magma? What the heck kind of name is that? And what’s that awful racket coming from the DJ booth—is that an internet dial-up tone?
“So, let’s get this party started!” Commander Magma yelled, at which point the audience completely lost their minds. The faculty looked around, worried they might to have to stop a riot or zombie outbreak or something.
“Tonight’s three players were chosen at random from the list of Hecklr registered players. Come on up to the stage.…”
The audience sucked in its collective breath in anticipation of the names being called. Imagine! To play a game live on ChickenHead LavaLamp!
“Giselle Blair!”
Wow, the Golem! Huh. Good for her.
“Nick Argento!”
Nick the Mimic, too? This is unbelievable. What are the chances?
“And finally… Tigran Sarkissian!”
Tigran the Tyrant? For reals?
No way, dude! How could it be possible that all three of my tormentors would be selected totally and completely at random?
Well, you probably guessed it by now, but last night I did a little work on the registered players list so that whenever ChickenHead LavaLamp’s people—or anyone, for that matter—searched it for names, these three would pop up first. Always. No matter what.
Heh heh heh. This was going to be fun.
REVENGE… FROM SPACE!
I watched everything from the top row of a set of bleachers and wondered if CyberGirl03 was streaming this back at her apartment. I pulled out a pay-by-the-minute phone I bought earlier today (to replace the one Tigran “borrowed”) and sent her a SlapTalk.
BoringBart: Are you watching ChickenHead LavaLamp?
CyberGirl03: Yep. And the names of those contestants sound awfully familiar. Is that Nick the same Nick who always picks on you? Nick the Mimic or whatever?
BoringBart: Huh, that’s weird. I think you’re right.
Nick “the Mimic” Argento was practically bouncing onstage, air-pumping his fists so hard that his wireless microphone headset almost slipped off. Weirdly, he proceeded to give his own introduction.
“Ladies and gents, introducing the reigning champ of Hecklr… the awesome… the amazing…”
“The humble,” Commander Magma added.
“Hah hah!” Nick said. “Funny dude.”
Nick was about to continue describing his all-around excellence when—bam!—he was accidentally-on-purpose body-checked by Giselle “the Golem” Blair. (I was still getting over the fact that she had an actual human last name.)
Nick squawked and pinwheeled his arms and almost went off the front of the stage—but recovered at the last minute. Giselle didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she turned her attention to Commander Magma.
“Let’s get this game going already!”
CyberGirl03: And isn’t that the girl who always knocks you down? Giselle? There can’t be more than one Giselle at your school.
BoringBart: You know, it could be. Hard to see from up here in the bleachers.
CyberGirl03: Well that’s a weird coincidence, don’t you think?
BoringBart: Our school’s kind of small, I guess.
Commander Magma glanced over at Tigran, who looked as if he couldn’t care less about being onstage. Or on the planet Earth, for that matter. “You ready, rock star?”
Tigran checked out his fingernails in response.
“Okay, Lerkian hunters, here’s the deal,” Commander Magma continued. “The giant screen is no ordinary display. It has been designed to respond to the alien attacks. If those little wiry suckers start winning and destroy the screen, molten hot lava will shoot out of little nozzles under the screen. The more you lose control, the more lava comes out of the screen.”
Instantly, a disclaimer appeared on all the screens around the athletic field:
NOTE: “MOLTEN HOT LAVA” ACTUALLY ORGANIC FAIR-TRADE SHADE-GROWN GLUTEN-FREE ALLERGEN-FRIENDLY NON-STAINING ARTIFI
CIAL FRUIT JUICE KEPT AT AN AVERAGE TEMPERATURE OF A MILD AND PLEASANT 75 DEGREES.
CyberGirl03: It would be more fun if they used real lava.
BoringBart: Tell me about it.
“And just to make it interesting… if the Lerkians succeed in destroying the screen, then the entire athletic field will be sprayed with lava—and then covered in chicken feathers!”
CyberGirl03: What does that have to do with Hecklr?
BoringBart: I think that has more to do with ChickenHead LavaLamp’s marketing department.
CyberGirl03: Lame. If I were the secret creator of the game, I’d be upset.
BoringBart: I don’t know. I think it’s kind of cool.
“Okay, players, put on your AR headsets, and I’ll hand you the texting devices. Let’s stop some Lerkians in their tracks!”
Now this was interesting. I had designed the game to be played on your phone, with the Lerkians visible only on a tiny screen. But with an augmented reality headset, everything around you was the screen. That must look seriously awesome!
Nick, Giselle, and Tigran put on their helmets, then turned to face the massive screen. The entire audience could see what they were seeing. Commander Magma pushed a texting device into each of their hands. When they typed their commands to the Lerkians, the words would appear on the screen for the rest of us to see.
Which is exactly what I was counting on.
“Ready… Set… Get your HECKLE on!” screamed Commander Magma. I’ll bet he’s been practicing that all week.
As if on cue, more Lerkians than I’ve ever seen wiggled their way onto the screen. All three players—even Tigran—took a step back in surprise. The audience gasped. There was a loud air-raid siren, and then bright-yellow sparks shot out of the massive screen. The Lerkians were on the attack!
THE LERKIAN EMPIRE STRIKES BACK!
Unbelievably Boring Bart Page 6
