Fan the Fame

by Anna Priemaza

  Most people set their servers on cooperative, so they can’t accidentally hit each other during a rift run, but as in any sandbox game, the variations you can make to how you play are practically endless. And tonight, we’re turning on PvP and fighting each other to the death!

  A grin slips across my face.

  BlastaMasta742 is right: it’s going to be epic.

  Three hours later, I’m cornered.

  In game, I huddle in the back storage room of my castle, hidden behind some shelves. The only way out: through the long front hallway guarded by my mortal enemy, Jones. Her username, MarthaJones, paces back and forth—the only part of her visible through the wall.

  “Come on out, Sammy boy.” Her voice thunders through my headset. She overheard my mom call me that once, and it’s stuck ever since. “I’ll let you surrender.”

  “No way. I’m not falling for that one again, Jones,” I say. Her name isn’t actually Jones, or even Martha, but that’s what happens when you get to know someone by username first.

  I press myself against the shelf full of my redwood and coral supplies—great for building, but no good to me now. “I’m good where I am. My castle’s a maze. You’ll never find me.” I breathe slowly in and out. In and out. The scab on my left arm, just above the wrist, screams at me to pick at its edges, but I scream back that I am much too busy—in my head, anyway. Outside, I say nothing at all, just keep breathing.

  And then it happens. My finger slides forward on the mouse wheel, and for a moment, I’m out of hiding. SamTheBrave username fully visible.

  I switch right back into hiding, then hold my breath. Did she see it?

  “Riiiiiight,” she says. “So true. Such a maze.” Her username glides toward me, visible through the redwood wall.

  She definitely saw me. My heart pounds as I glance at the livestream chat.

  This gonna be good

  LMAO

  perfect

  My body is ready

  Lolololololol

  die Jones die Clara is better

  yesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

  I grin. Because the chat knows what Jones doesn’t:

  1. That last week, a rift spawned maybe ten feet from my castle. I could have closed it up. I should have closed it up. I definitely shouldn’t have built my castle around it like it didn’t exist.

  2. That last night, when Jones thought I was studying history, I instead ran a top-secret livestream from eight p.m. to one a.m. to prepare for today’s PvP face-off.

  3. That five hours is a long time. Long enough that even if you die thirty times in the process, you can probably manage to wrangle a good fifteen or so shadowwolves, three venomous wereboars, and a mutant rabbit into a tiny built-over-a-rift closet.

  4. That I slipped out of hiding on purpose.

  Jones opens the closet door. The door she thinks is my door.

  “What the—”

  MarthaJones was slain by a mutant rabbit

  I laugh so hard as her death message comes up in the game log that I can barely make out her murderous swearing in the background. I glance at the chat again. It’s so full of LOLs and ROFLs and memes and emoji that you’d never guess there were only twenty people in there. Not that I’m complaining. It’s the most viewers I’ve ever had at one time!

  “I’m going to kill you, Sammy boy,” Jones says once I stop snorting. Her voice is heavy with amusement, though. She’s impressed.

  “Told you I’d get you back,” I say to her, the words bouncing with my leftover laughter.

  “And you did indeed get me back.” She pauses while we both catch our breath from all the laughing and swearing. “So . . . your base is full of shadowwolves now, right? What’re you going to do about that?”

  My grin falls off my face. “Oh. Uh . . .” I glance at the shelves behind me full of redwood and flowers and building supplies. My sword is on the lawn outside, where I dropped it to make her think I’m helpless. The only way out of this room is the hallway now full of the monsters I trapped there. Oops. Maybe I didn’t think this through.

  I glance at the clock. Almost eleven p.m., the end of my regularly scheduled stream time. Often I stream longer than that, but tonight I want to turn this stream and last night’s stream into a highlights video so I have something great to show to Code, and the editing for that will probably take a couple of hours.

  “A problem for another day!” I shout, like it’s a victory cry. “Eat my balls, shadowwolves!” And then I hit the Log Off button, exiting the server, but not the stream quite yet.

  Jones laughs. The chat is full of laughter. It could be at my brilliant victory, or at the fact that I’ve trapped myself in my own base, but it doesn’t matter to me which it is. It’s all of it, probably. I’m laughing at all of it myself. That’s the thing about being a video game streamer—you don’t have to be good at the game, you just have to be entertaining.

  Right before shutting off the stream, I catch one more comment in the chat: Best stream everrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

  It was good, wasn’t it, BlastaMasta742? I might never have more than twenty viewers at one time, but at least—I think, I hope—I do entertain them.

  As I open my editing software, the giddy warmth of the whole night flushes through me. Maybe I don’t belong at school, but I belong here, in the Legends of the Stone gaming world. And I’m going to be at LotSCON all weekend long.

  Maybe it’s a long shot trying to get Code to look at my videos, but still, as I start combing through my stream for highlights, I can’t stop smiling. This is my world, and maybe that makes it not such a long shot after all.

  @LumberLegs: LotSCON FAQ session in an hour! Looking through your supremely awesome questions now! So excited!

  [1.7K likes]

  Three

  ShadowWillow

  A GUY IN LINE IS DRESSED AS A DRAGONLORD, AND IT’S ONE OF THE MOST impressive cosplays I’ve ever seen. His wings spread out behind him, black piping strong enough to support an expanse of sheer red fabric glimmering with gold, and yet somehow kinked and engineered to fold in on itself at the press of a button in his vest. It’s not just the engineering that’s impressive, though. He’s put so much attention into every detail. His skin is painted gold, with scales sketched meticulously into the paint. And the armor is spot-on, from the black shadowdragon that stretches around his chestplate—head breathing fire down the front of one arm, tail curving down the back of the other—to the gold edging, made to look worn from years of battling in the rift.

  I’m about as awkward as a baby skunk in a box of kittens when I talk to strangers, but I’m desperate for a picture, and taking pictures at a con without asking first is a huge no-no. So I take a deep breath, pull out my phone, and approach him. “That dragon is stunning,” I say when I reach him. “I mean, absolute perfection. Just really, really incredible. Like out-of-this-world incredible. Could I—could I get a selfie with you?”

  I’m pretty sure he blushes beneath his gold paint as he stammers out his agreement. Why hello, fellow baby skunk.

  It ends up being impossible to fit the wings or any of the best parts of the cosplay in the picture when I hold the camera out for a selfie, but the sweetheart of a girl just ahead of the dragonlord in line offers to take a picture for us. Her hair is shaved on one side and streaked with blue on the other, which looks epic but also chilly out here in the windy line that’s stretched along the side of the convention center. The dragonlord has her take one on his camera, too, which is cute. He must be doing that thing where he takes pictures with everyone who asks to take pictures with him.

  When the girl hands my phone back, I check the picture. The wings are cut off a bit and the lighting’s kind of dark, but it’ll have to do. “Thanks,” I say to her. “That’s perfect.”

  I turn back to the dragonlord. “And thank you!”

  He gives a slow, shallow bow, then says, “And, uh, could I get your, uh, autograph?”

  “My . . . autograph?”
<
br />   He nods. “You’re Willow, right?”

  “ShadowWillow.” I correct him on reflex. He must be a Codemeister fan. The hundreds of thousands of them that have been flocking to my channel again lately keep calling me Willow, like I’m the kind of player who spends endless hours in game collecting outfits to fill my closet. I’m supposed to be ShadowWillow or just Shadow, the kind of player who’s only interested in collecting dragon heads for my wall. Not that I’m complaining. I’m definitely not complaining.

  The girl who took the picture for us whirls around. “Wait, you’re Willow? I mean, of course you are. Holy crap. I thought you looked familiar, especially with that purple hair, but everyone’s got purple hair these days, you know?” She runs a hand through her own half head of blue-streaked hair, then leans in. “So is it true? Are you and Code dating?”

  I’m thankful for the shadowy evening lighting and the high-collared coat that hides my neck and chest, which tend to flare much brighter red than my cheeks ever do. Here it is, the question that’s been dominating the comments section of my videos ever since I did that tournament with Code.

  Are you dating Codemeister?

  I SHIP THEM SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD

  CodeWillow <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

  You + Code = HOTTTTTTT

  “I, um, well—” I wasn’t prepared to be asked this so quickly. And by strangers. Random strangers who recognized me and want my autograph. Holy shadowdragons, this is so cool! I take a breath, metaphorically straighten my little skunk tail, and smile at them both as I reach into my purse for the Sharpie that Claire made me pack despite my protestations that I wouldn’t need it. “No comment, sorry. But you said you wanted my autograph?”

  And they do; they do want my autograph! The photographer girl has me sign her program. The dragonlord has me sign his armor—his armor!—right below the dragon’s head. It feels almost sacrilegious to mar his work of perfection with my Sharpie scribble, but if it’s what he wants, I’m not saying no. And then I’m telling them it was nice to meet them and marching off like I’ve got somewhere to be.

  Somewhere to be, apparently, is the washroom, where I lock myself in a stall, lean against the graffitied wall, and message Claire.

  I just used the Sharpie!!!!!!!!

  While I wait for her response, I pull up my phone camera and start to use it as a mirror—then decide that’s stupid, since there are full-size mirrors just outside my locked stall door. I’m about to head out there when my phone pings, and then pings again.

  DOES THAT MEAN WHAT I THINK IT MEANS?!?!?

  YOU JUST GOT THERE!!!!

  I grin stupidly as I tap out my response.

  It does. It does mean that. Someone in line asked for my autograph. Two someones, actually.

  ZLIFJELAIFJSMCVNPQOW!!!!!1!1!!!!!!!!!

  Ha ha

  You’re the one who made me take the Sharpie

  I know, but I didn’t really think you’d need it

  Gee thanks

  Well, did you think so?

  No! Not aside from at my actual signing

  Dude, you’re totally famous!!!!!

  I mean, outside of this convention, no one knows who I am. I could walk one street over and I’d just be some weird girl with purple hair and a bow-legged walk

  No one notices your walk except you

  And you’re NOT one street over. You’re here! And here, you are famous!

  What’s it like finally being out in the real world, btw?

  How’s the sun?

  I shoot her back a tongue-stuck-out emoji, then unzip my coat and smooth out my extra-long gray shirt and black leggings. Claire knows I’ve spent the past ten months working twelve-hour days in my parents’ basement, trying to build up my YouTube channel. And I’m not actually famous—I don’t have millions of subscribers like Codemeister or LumberLegs—but things are finally starting to happen. All my hours spent in front of a computer while my friends moved away for university or spent their gap year traveling the world; all the hours and hours of video that I recorded and edited and threw away and recorded all over again because the first version wasn’t good enough; all the time I spent reminding my dad that he and I had a deal, and my year wasn’t up yet—all of it has brought me here.

  And by “here,” I apparently mean hidden away in a bathroom stall at a convention center, texting my best friend. I unlock the stall and head over to the bathroom mirrors as another message comes in from Claire.

  Have you met Codemeister yet?!? Or Wolfmeister? Noogmeister? Deadmeister? Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzmeister? How many Zs are in Z’s name anyway? Is Wolf as stunningly gorgeous in real life as in his videos? Don’t forget: I neeeeeed a photo. Preferably one that I can photoshop myself into licking Wolf’s face.

  Ew, that’s gross!

  You don’t want to lick Code’s face?

  Dude, no! And I haven’t met any of them yet. I’ve got that LumberLegs panel first; then I’m meeting his sister to take me to the rental.

  I can’t believe you’re staying with them!!!

  I can’t believe it either. Three months ago I was gradually building my channel, finally seeing a bit of traction and making a few good connections, but for the most part still a nobody. But then Team Meister was short a player for that tournament, and I’d been chatting with Pyro, who’s friends with Etho, who was in the tournament, and then suddenly I was recruited and paired with Code and we were so close to winning the whole thing, and my subscriber count doubled that first week and tripled the second and I thought I had finally made it—until the subscribers started leveling off and the comments shipping me and Code together became more and more infrequent. It’s hard to keep up viewers’ excitement for it when I was nothing more to Code than a blip on his radar. Rumors need fuel and I had none to give them.

  Until recently, when Code’s sister needed a roommate for LotSCON, and Code messaged me out of the blue and asked me. And obviously I said sure, not even realizing that it’d be in the house Team Meister was renting for the Con instead of some hotel room.

  I know. It’s going to be weird

  I think you mean awesome

  Awesome AND weird

  When it got out that I’d be staying with the Meisters for LotSCON, the dying embers of fans’ Codemeister + ShadowWillow excitement burst into flame again, and more important, my subscriber count also caught fire—in the good way. This time, though, I can’t let the momentum die off. I need to make an impression—on Code’s viewers and on Code himself. Something that means I’m going to stick in their consciousness for a long, long time. This is my one chance. No pressure or anything.

  I wish you were here

  Say hi to your textbooks for me

  I will lick their covers hello for you

  You’re gross

  <3

  <3

  I shake my head and slide my phone back into my purse. I wish Claire was here instead of halfway across the country studying history at Dalhousie University in Nova Scotia. Though even if she wasn’t halfway across the country, she’d still probably be buried in textbooks instead of joining me—despite the lure of Wolf’s apparently lickable face. She’s trying to get top marks all through undergrad so she can get a scholarship to law school and achieve her life goal of becoming a Bay Street lawyer.

  She has a life goal. I have a subscriber count.

  I spend a couple of minutes in front of the mirror before I head back out—touching up my makeup, trying to smooth out that one strand of hair that always tries to be curly when the rest of my hair is stick straight. It’s hard to be mad at it when I feel like it’s a metaphor for my life.

  A Filipina girl in jeans and a LotS shirt under her unzipped coat and a white girl with thick rectangular eyebrows and a long black winter coat zipped up to her chin enter the bathroom. I glance up at them, half expecting to catch some recognition in their eyes, because apparently the number of autographs I need to sign to take me from feeling like a nobody to expecting to be r
ecognized as a somebody is two. But their eyes barely pause on me before they disappear into their respective stalls. Which isn’t a shock. I’m still not even halfway to a million subscribers.

  And getting there is going to be either really hard or really easy, depending on why, exactly, Code invited me here. If it’s only to make friends with his sister and I barely see heads or tails of him all weekend, I’m going to have to get creative. If, on the other hand, it’s for reasons, well, let’s just say that being one-half of a YouTube gaming power couple would keep me in viewers’ minds for longer than whatever they had for breakfast, even if their breakfast was a delicious cinnamon roll with cream cheese icing. Plus Code’s not bad to look at, with those round, baby-face cheeks and his infectious grin.

  Admittedly, I didn’t think of him that way until after the tournament, when people started shipping us together, but that means nothing. I went on two different “dates” with my last boyfriend before I realized that he was thinking of them as dates and not just as friends, and we ended up being together for eight months. Plus, during the tournament, I was much too busy trying to win to think about things like flirting. And we managed to come in second overall, which was disappointing at the time but was actually pretty darn good considering that we’d never played together before and that Code is not exactly skilled at PvP. So at least I know we work well together.

  I don’t normally have time for dating or even meeting new people—not in the real world, at least. I reserve all my socialization energy for networking with other content creators online. Though I’d make an exception for Code.

  I check my messages from him. The last one from two days ago says simply: Great! See you there! Not exactly strong evidence of incoming power-couple status, but I’ve got all weekend to change that. And there’s no sense in worrying about that right now, because now I get to see LumberLegs, the kindest, smartest, most hilarious YouTuber in the entire universe! (Perhaps let’s not tell Code I said that.)

  I give my mulberry lip gloss a quick refresh, then head back out to line up on the chilly street. The line was long before I went in the bathroom, and it’s only grown. I pull my coat tight around me to block out the almost-spring wind as I head toward the back of the line—then stop. I’ve been to a couple of conventions before—last year, Claire and I even made the same four-hour drive I made today to come all the way up from Windsor for FAN EXPO Canada—but always as an attendee. Never as a panelist or an invited guest.