As Worlds Drifted

by Parker Tiden

  "We called, you know," Sylvester, my former sail coach, said from behind his desk. "I came by your house, talked to your mother."

  "I couldn't face anyone," I replied, my eyes fixated on the floor in front of me.

  "This stunt you pulled today was dangerous. You put yourselves in jeopardy, and you put the school at risk." Sylvester was the head of the sailing school and looked the part. He had a chiseled weatherworn look with dark ocean-blue eyes, which I am pretty sure women might leave their families for.

  "It was all my idea, sir. I basically coerced the others into following me," I tried.

  "Don't sir me, Lily. I've known you since you were wee high," he said, holding his right hand not more than two feet off the ground. "I want you to know that I petitioned the club board to let you stay on at the sailing school, despite all that happened... said that you were an asset to US sailing, that you had Olympic potential."

  "You didn't need to do that," I said, meeting his eyes.

  "I failed. Some of the dinosaurs on the board were afraid of potential fallout, you know..."

  "Because my father was a crook."

  "I didn't say that—"

  "Doesn't matter. So, when are the cops coming?"

  "They're not," Sylvester said as he stood up from behind his desk and opened the door.

  Jamaal suddenly perked up out of his daydream of a future as a permanent member of the bottom tenth percentile.

  "What, no fuzz!" George blurted out.

  Sylvester motioned us out of the room and the building, then, in silence, led us to the main gate. "You three," Sylvester said, pointing at the three boys, "I don't ever want to see you again." He opened the gate, motioned them out, and turned to me. "I'm so sorry you lost your father. Sam was my friend and I choose my friends carefully. He was one of the good ones." He put his hand on my shoulder. It could have been my dad's. "If there's anything I can do, let me know. Anything. Promise."

  I nodded and followed the boys out to the world beyond.

  Outside the gate, George was being ridiculous. "This was the best thing! The best thing ever!" he cried and flung himself over me with a hug. "Um, sorry," he blurted out, pulling away, face burning. "I didn't know it could feel like this. I mean IRL."

  "You know what they say about near-death experience," Jamaal added, "well, they were right. "

  "I just ordered a car," Nick said, turning to me. "You alright?"

  "I'm fine. It was amazing, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, it was."

  Two Girls in a Shower

  Nick and I had walked to school together for the fifth time. It was Friday. He was actually humming, maybe lingering effects of the boat heist. Tomorrow, we were heading off to battle the hoards at the tournament. I'd survived almost a week at school. I'd like to say that it was getting easier every day, that I felt a belonging, but I wasn't convinced that the world of high school was any more real than Luna's world. My tribe, as far as I was concerned, was JRN. That's where I belonged, that's where I was useful, that's where I was assessed, not on who I was, but on what I did.

  Weighing on all of us was the drive and its contents, and where it pointed. Although Skulder, or whatever that agent’s name was, didn't say it in so many words, it was pretty clear that someone wanted that key bad, bad enough to kill. It could well be a suicide mission, but one way to find out who killed my dad was to flush them out. If they wanted it bad enough, they would come for me eventually… what then? I didn't have anything left to live for, so I was essentially risking nothing, but who was I to pull Nick, George, and Jamaal into it? I had no right to put them in danger. They were already exposed enough as it is, with their real and digital fingerprints over this thing.

  "Lil, your arguments seem rational enough," Nick said as he chugged back his single serving of milk at lunch. How cute, this wasn't the time to tell him that dairy was out, maybe even dangerous (although not as dangerous as Russians). "But you forget one crucial factor. George, you tell her."

  George had just taken a massive bite out of his cheese dog and struggled to make himself intelligible. Jamaal stepped in. "What Joey Chestnut here is trying to say—"

  "Joey Chestnut is the world record holder in hotdog eating," Nick interrupted. If he could just stop his mansplaining, he might even be attractive, to someone. "He downed 72 dogs in ten minutes, with buns mind you."

  George, finally able to talk, chimed in, "They weren't cheese dogs though, just plain dogs, impressive nonetheless."

  "Have you two finished?" Jamaal continued. "What Nick was trying to say is, the crucial factor you forgot is that we are a team. We cover for each other. We don't leave anyone behind. Not in Alphacore, not here."

  "So, you're stuck with us," Nick said, suddenly serious. "We will go beyond fear, together."

  It was all very melodramatic, but even a hardcore cynic like me couldn't help but be moved. There was an awkward silence. Luckily, we were saved by the bell. "So, I'll see you guys tonight for a skirmish or two?" I said. The vagaries of high school scheduling sent us on different paths for the rest of the day. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, but there was nothing I could do about it. I had resolved to never again, for the rest of my life, pee in a public facility, which meant that I had to pace my liquid intake.

  I made my way over to the science wing. Our chemistry teacher, Ms. Offerman, had been out sick earlier in the week, so this would be my first chemistry class since getting back. I was early. Having no idea what seating arrangements had been made during my lengthy absence, I chose the far corner of the lab. The class started to fill up, some of my classmates nodded in my direction, others even approached for small talk. But no one sat next to me.

  Things settled down when Offerman came in and closed the door. She thumped down a pile of notebooks onto her table, then looked out over the class, her eyes landing on me. "Ah, Lily," she said, smiling, "I heard that you were back, I couldn't wait to see you." I blushed. "The day one of my best students returns is a good day!" Enough already.

  "To continue our journey into metals," she proceeded with unabated enthusiasm, "we will today be observing—" there was a knock on the door. All attention was directed at the door as it was pushed open. In stepped Sarah.

  "Sorry," she said as she closed the door behind her.

  "Take a seat next to Lily in the back," Offerman pointed. "You must be thrilled to have your lab partner back." Sarah's facial expression did not seem to support this assertion. "So, metals and acids," Offerman continued, "you will need to exercise caution, put on your lab coats and safety glasses. Important not to cork the test tubes too hard, the cork goes on loosely, is that clear?"

  Sarah plumped down on the stool next to me without even acknowledging my existence. Offerman's instructions faded into the background as blood thumped through my brain. I just did what everybody else did, went through the motions as we took out the test tubes, Bunsen burners, and prepped the acids. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. "I never told you this before," I said as I dropped a piece of metal, I wasn't even sure which metal, into a test tube. "I wanted to spare you, but you were so honest with me in the bathroom yesterday... it's only right that you know." Sarah acted as if she didn't hear me, she added hydrochloric acid into three of the test tubes in the rack in front of us. So, I just kept on talking. "I'll just come out and say it. You snore. You're a snorer. My God you snore." Sarah rammed a cork in each of the three test tubes. "Why do you think I slept at your place so much more often than you ever slept at mine? My mom couldn't sleep with your snoring shaking the whole place. My dad even worried about foundational damage to the house."

  Sarah sighed deeply, and finally turned to me and her eyes locked into mine through the safety goggles. This was the first time we really looked at each other since the party on the beach… before everything changed.

  "You fart," she said, straight-faced.

  "What?!"

  "You're a farter, and I'm not even sure you realize it. You just go about your life le
aking like some worn-out granny."

  "That's it! You—" I wasn't sure I had an adequate comeback, but one of our test tubes chose this opportune moment to explode, so I never needed one. There was a loud pop and glass and test tube contents splattered across our desk. We just stood there paralyzed. Ms. Offerman rushed with uncanny speed over from the front of the room, grabbed us by the arms, and dragged us to the nearest corner. "Stand still," she ordered as she pulled a lever. We yelped in tandem as cold water poured down on us. I turned to look at Sarah, she looked at me, and we started to giggle, and that led to laughter, which led to hysterical laughter.

  Off to the Races

  Reality made itself known as pale light filtered through my blinds, announcing Saturday—game day. Considering the emotional rollercoaster I was still on, I was crazy to think I could handle 48 hours of, basically, non-stop gaming. But I had to do it for the team. I'd slept way too long. Jamaal's dad was swinging by in less than ten minutes to pick me up and drive the four of us to the tournament—a two-hour drive.

  I slipped on our sponsor's t-shirt, a garish bright-blue thing with the wording "ClearView CarWash" on the front, and "JRN - Beyond Fear" on the back. Our corporate sponsor was the owner of a local chain of car washes, who just happened to also be Jamaal's father. In return for providing invaluable PR for his brand, we were given the ride to and from the tournament, and free caffeine-laced soda. Our team was punching way over its weight class, so looking like fools, I told myself, would be to our advantage because no one would see us coming until it was too late, when their bodies lay strewn all over the battlefield.

  I looked at the thumb drive in my hand. It would have to come with me. I didn't dare leave it out of my sight. I made my way down to the kitchen. As usual, I was careful not to wake my mom. I tried to limit my interactions with her as much as possible.

  Yet there, at the kitchen table, in her half-open bathrobe, hair in a mess, and with a mug of coffee in her hands, she was looking ten years older. It was too late to turn around, plus I wanted my tea. I said nothing as I turned my back to her, filled the electric kettle with cold water, and placed it on its stand. It started to hiss quietly. I popped a couple of slices in the toaster and pulled some milk and butter out of the fridge. I picked a butter knife out of the drawer as if a butter knife would be enough to cut the tension between us.

  I hadn't told her anything about what I had found in the snow globe. She was in no condition to compute the information, plus she seemed so gullible, buying the FBI's story. Could I even trust her?

  I buttered one of the pieces of toast and turned to face her. "Mom," I said with a gentleness that surprised me. Her eyes met mine and I saw her infinite sorrow. "I'm heading out for a few days. Are you going to be ok?"

  "Have fun, darling," she answered, her tone flat. "I'll be fine."

  "Do you even know where I'm going?"

  "I trust you, honey."

  "Maybe you shouldn't so much... trust me. There's a couple of pints of milk, some bread, and some microwave dinners," I said like I was the grown-up in the family.

  A barely perceptible nod was all she could muster in acknowledgment.

  I turned to butter my second slice of toast at the counter, but my appetite was lost. I saw the unbuttered toast start to crumple as my hand turned into a fist, and my toast was toast. Was it my anger, was it finally here? I wanted to turn and scream at her and ask why she had abandoned me. Ask how she could give up. Ask why she never smiled with her eyes. But I was saved by a honk. They were here.

  I dropped the mangled bread on the counter and made for the back stairs to run up and grab the last of my stuff, but stopped in the doorway. I turned back around to face her. I hesitated for a second, but then asked, "What are we going to do?"

  Her eyes met mine again. "I don't know," she said. “I don’t know.”

  We were on our way. I was stuck in the middle between George and Nick in the back seat of Jamaal's dad's smallish Japanese car, happy in the knowledge that being a girl made me ineligible for titty-twisters. Given George's size, Nick and I were scrunched close together, with our shoulders, hips, thighs, and knees touching—not as uncomfortable as I thought it might be.

  There was some traffic backed up to get into the parking lot, and a handful of parking attendants in bright yellow jackets were directing traffic as best they could.

  We parked, and Jamaal ran out to get a couple of dollies from a row of them provided by the organizers. "BYOC does not mean bring your own chair," Nick said as George started to untie a chair that he had tied to the roof of the car.

  "My ass's well-being is essential for JRN's success, I'm even thinking of insuring it. I have already reached out to Kardashian's people to find out what insurance company she uses," George replied as he struggled not to drop the chair or the red cap off his head. George had made an attempt at a costume—as I looked around the parking lot, I saw quite a few good ones.

  "If you keep up your lifestyle, you'll need to check with those same people about boob insurance," Jamaal laughed.

  "Is that all you could manage?" Nick said, feigning disgust as he looked George up and down. George had on a Mario mustache, red cap with an M on it, and blue overalls. The cap was too small, the mustache was off-center, and the overalls were so stretched out over his stomach, I thought he'd explode.

  "Given all the crazy that's been going down the past few days, what do you expect?" George replied. "Your costume looks like shit too, by the way." Nick didn't have a costume.

  Neither did Jamaal or I. To complement the carwash t-shirt, I wore standard jeans and sneakers—red sneakers this time, in Luna's honor. The only thing out of the ordinary was hidden from the naked eye, in the form of the thumb drive stuck in the condom pocket of my jeans.

  We had brought so much gear that Jamaal’s dad had borrowed a utility trailer to hitch to the car. We piled our equipment onto two dollies: a total of six monitors (George needed to bring three, of course), four keyboards, four overnight bags, including pillows, four gaming computers, four headsets, four visors, and lots of cables. Dozens if not hundreds of gamers were doing the same thing all around the parking lot. A majority of them were prepubescent, pubescent, and post-pubescent boys. Girls were surprisingly well represented though, as were men over 30. Men just don't seem to grow up anymore.

  We had almost reached the main entrance when my heart twisted as I glanced to my left and saw bold letters splashed up on an adjacent building announcing that the West Coast Annual Power and Sail was opening its doors tomorrow. I used to go to the boat show with my dad.

  "This way," Jamaal pointed, looking up from his floor plan as he led the team towards Hall A.

  "Holy shit," Nick exclaimed as we entered the hall.

  "This is huge," George said, all the while trying not to look too impressed. In front of us stretched row upon row of computers being set up. Two football fields totally covered in row upon row of battle stations. Thousands of computer screens lit up the hall like slot machines on a Vegas floor. The beamed ceiling was clustered with spotlights. At one end of the hall was a stage. Along one side was a raised and roped-off platform. Nick explained that this is where the ranked teams could hang out and wallow in swag—free Red Bull, donuts, so on and so forth, and not have to co-mingle with the plebes. A sign advised us that we were entering a Wi-Fi restricted and mobile data restricted area.

  "To stop cheating," Nick explained. "Alphacore has built their own dedicated network just for this event."

  "Alphacore are control freaks," Jamaal chimed in.

  We checked out the seating chart again and headed for row A 32, more or less smack in the middle of the hall, and started to set up our gear at the table we had been assigned, which was now to become our battle station, at least until the final rounds. Nick and I were in the middle and Jamaal and George to our sides.

  The star teams were automatically qualified for the round of 32 tomorrow, while the plebes, a group of which JRN were members, needed to
duke it out in several qualifying rounds during the first day and night to snatch the 16 remaining spots. The stars mostly hung out in the VIP section meeting with sponsors, Tweeting, Snapchatting, YouTubing, Instagramming, or giving interviews to various news outlets.

  Our first round was to start in a mere 30 minutes but I couldn't sit still, thoughts of my dad swirled. "I'll be back in time for the game, I promise," I said as I headed for the exhibitors in Hall B.

  "What about our strategy session?" Nick shouted behind me, taking his team leader responsibilities a bit too seriously maybe. You mean the strategy where I blow everyone out of the water and lead us to victory? I wanted to say but didn't. That I, a two-month noob, could outgun the rest of JRN blindfolded was still a bit of a sore spot.

  Hall B was a jungle. I looked around trying to get my bearings, seeing all sorts of gear and software companies, from the big ones to more obscure outfits that sold customized gear.

  Let the Games Begin

  The crowds in Hall B were thinning as the gamers were heading back to their stations. I followed the crowd back to Hall A, many of my fellow gamers were carrying tote-bags stuffed with loot from companies trying to woo this growing and valuable market segment. I had barely made it back to Hall A when I heard, "WELCOME, GAMERS!" blared out from the main stage. The multicolored lights flared up and a gigantic screen lit up with a 20-foot-tall Alphacore logo projected in 3D. There was a space right in front of the stage where gamers were beginning to cram in like a nerd mosh pit. Not in the mood to rub myself against sweaty and under-deodorized teenage gamer boys, I continued to make my way back to my station.

  "T-minus 30 minutes until you noobs get going with the qualifying round," the announcer continued, "but until then, please welcome our master of ceremonies for tonight, the one and only, the most famous YouTuber on the planet, Oz! Blondie!" The crowd surged forward as a diminutive figure in a standard t-shirt and jeans and a leather trench coat and boots with 20-inch soles, came swinging from the rafters. He landed on the stage and stood for a moment taking in the crowd.