by Seven Steps
Mama did say that, but Attina and I were the only ones who believed her. Duckie called it hogwash.
I narrow my gaze at her. “How did you really beat me?” I demand. “The truth this time.”
She leans over and pats me on the back. I briefly consider pulling her into the pool, but I don’t.
“Simple. I walked across when you were swimming your head off.”
We chuckle, then full-blown laugh until our eyes tear up.
Her laugh is light and carefree while mine is lower and filled with relief that I haven’t lost to my thirty-year-old sister.
I climb out of the pool and sit on the tiles next to her. She throws her arm around my shoulder and gives me a little squeeze that warms me from the inside out.
“You’re getting faster,” she says.
“I made Olympic qualifying time today,” I reply. “And team captain.”
She looks impressed.
“That’s wonderful. Those are the kinds of memories that will keep you going when you’re my age.”
“Memories?”
“Yes. From here on in, the only pool you’ll see is this one. Otherwise, it’s all numbers and networking and trying to figure out who’s most likely to stab you in the back.”
Her face turns sad, and she closes her mouth as if she’s said too much. Is that Duckie’s life? Numbers, networking, and conspiracies?
I can’t think about that now. I have to get Duckie firmly on my side about this business academy. She’s the only one with even the slightest chance of convincing Daddy to let me drop the class.
I inhale deeply, glad that the swim has cleared my head.
“Duckie, I don’t want to go into business.”
Her smile falters a little. She doesn’t seem angry or curious about my comment. She just looks tired.
“Ariel, dear, this is an amazing opportunity to understand the business world before you actually have to join it. It can only help you.”
“I’m not cut out for business. I hate math and economics and everything else business related. I just want to swim.”
“No one is saying you can’t swim. You can swim to your heart’s desire right here.” She gestures to the pool, and I hold back a growl.
“No, I want to swim competitively. With a team. I want to live life on my own terms.”
“And you will. A life with a house, a 401K, a savings account, a car or two. Things you can’t get when you’re a swim teacher.” She narrows her eyes as if really trying to make me understand her point. “If you continue down this path, you’ll just end up a swim teacher like Coach Fish. Is that what you want?”
Indignation at her slight of my coach fills me, but I keep a firm grip on my emotions.
“Would that be so bad?”
She sighs and turns from me, her expression softening, her gaze faraway.
“One day, when you’re older, you’ll realize that sometimes, you have to sacrifice the things you hold most dear for the greater good. Then, if you’re lucky, one day all the things you lost will come back to you, and, on that day, you will truly be happy.”
“Are you happy, Duckie?”
I’ve been meaning to ask her this for a long time. After all, she gave up everything to raise us. Was it worth it to her? Did she lose things she hoped would come back?
Her brows squeeze together.
“Of course I’m happy. I have you girls, I have Daddy and the business.” She gives my shoulder another squeeze. “And, one day, you’ll have all of that too.”
Somehow, I don’t believe her. She must sense my unease because she presses on.
“Why would you ask?”
I shrug. “No reason.”
Because you don’t seem happy.
“Making all of you happy makes me happy. Making Daddy happy makes me happy.”
Her life doesn’t sound happy to me. It sounds sad and pathetic. One thing’s for sure. I love Duckie, but I don’t want her life. Not now. Not ever.
She lets me go and stands up.
“All right, kid. Time for bed. You have a big day tomorrow.”
“I’m not going to the business academy.”
“Yes, you are. You don’t have a choice.”
“I always have a choice.”
Her gaze bores holes into mine.
“Then make sure it’s the right choice.”
She holds my gaze for a few seconds more, burning the words into my brain, before she turns and walks toward the door.
Make sure it’s the right choice. Right for who? For me? Or for Duckie and Daddy?
I watch her go, my head still ringing with her words.
Then, something catches my eye. There, on Duckie’s hip, is a mark. No, not a mark. Letters. They hover right above her yellow bikini bottom string.
I squint, desperate to make out exactly what the letters are. Right before she pulls her towel around her shoulders and walks out the door I read the letters clearly.
J.
A.
M.
E.
S.
It’s a tattoo. When did straight-edged Duckie get a tattoo? And, more importantly, who’s James?
5
Sleep eludes me.
I can’t convince Duckie to let me stay on the swim team, and without her on my side, there’s no way I’m convincing Daddy.
I put my pillow over my eyes and scream into it. I’ve never been so frustrated in my life. It’s like my hands are tied. Like I have no options. I stare at the ceiling for what seems like hours. When I can’t take that anymore, I sit up and rummage through my sheets for the TV remote.
There’s only one way to get my mind off my sucky life. Video games.
I push the sheets off my bed, followed by the pillows. Still, no remote. I search the nightstand. Nothing. Then, I open and close all the drawers of the computer table. Still, nada.
Where’s the remote?
My eyes scan the room. Most people would call it a mess, but I call it a museum of collectibles. I’m a collector of important things. There are candelabras from the summer house in Cabo. Mama’s old scrapbooks. Music boxes topped with women in beautiful gowns and men in feathered hats. One of my favorite pieces is a fork from my parents' wedding table. I found it in a box beneath the china cabinet last year when I was looking for extra wine glasses for Mrs. Grimm, our housekeeper. Gadgets are piled on sagging shelves, and gizmos poke out of boxes. Whosits and whatsits randomly sprinkle the floor. Thingamabobs are crammed in corners. I probably have twenty of those. Nothing is necessarily in any sort of order, but it’s not out of control either. Everything has a home, even if I didn’t know that when I put it there. If an item held significance to my family, it’s probably somewhere in my room.
I find the remote buried beneath a pile of clothes next to my bed, switch on the wall-mounted TV, and slide into my gaming chair. The chair is green with purple fire decals on the side, all hand-painted by Duckie five years ago as a Christmas present. It came with three different gaming systems and a giant box full of video games.
I’m a gamer.
I discovered video games the summer after my mama died. Stuck in a cycle of never-ending boredom and grief, I started spending a lot of time on my computer and, the next thing I knew, I was playing computer games. My addiction has only grown from there.
The splash screen for Ogre Wars, my favorite game, lights the TV, and I click START, then CONTINUE FROM SAVE POINT.
A woman steps out of a dark hut. She’s wearing a leather outfit, and a purple fireball glows in her hand.
I am that woman.
Sanza Crutev, the gypsy witch. I burn my enemies with magic, purple fire, and I’m pretty good with my bladed staff too.
I race out of the hut and set out to find some ogres to kill.
My mind starts to relax as I focus on the game.
Thirty seconds into playing, I spot a patrol of ogres. I count seven of the slimy things. Yeah, they look slow and dumb, but it’s a deliberate deception. Ogr
es are fast when they want to be, especially the skinny ones. The fat ones are a little slower, but each hit from their meaty fists snags about half of my life force points.
The ogres move closer, and I cycle through my weapons stash until I find my bill—a staff with a blade on the end—and sit forward in my seat, ready for action.
“All right, Billy,” I whisper. “Let’s do this.” Yes, I call my bill Billy. Yes, I’m clever like that.
The first ogre spots me, then says something in a language that sounds like pig squeals. The caption at the bottom of the screen translates his words.
“There’s the witch!”
The game music blasts from the built-in speakers in my chair. I turn the volume down so I won’t wake my sisters.
The first ogre rushes me, wielding a long wooden staff with a spiked ball on the end. The metal twinkles in the virtual sunshine.
I push my joystick back, avoiding the weapon before swinging my own. The fat ogre blocks my attack, then comes down hard with a cross body punch. It catches my character on the side of the head, and my life points drop by half.
Crap on a stick!
I push my joystick forward again and press a combination of buttons that makes Billy move super-fast. The ogre’s feet detach from his body and he keels over, dead as a doornail.
One down. Six to go.
A second ogre punches me in the back, and my character stuns.
I switch out Billy for my magic, purple fireballs and hurl them at the ogre mercilessly.
Two down.
Five to go.
The remaining ogres stand around me, grunting and squealing at each other like big, green, slimy hogs. I’m trapped with only a quarter-life left. I check my stash of fireballs. They’re almost gone.
Great. I’m about to lose another life.
I suck my teeth.
Why do I play this game on the hardest level?
Suddenly, another character appears alongside me on the screen. He’s a dark-haired man with a wolf fur coat. Like the kind that John Snow wears on Game of Thrones. He swings a long-handled axe and takes out an ogre.
I sit up straight.
Backup. And just when I need it. Thank God. Maybe I’ll beat this level after all.
With renewed hope and a thirst for vengeance, I attack monster number four, burning him to death with a fireball.
The other character takes out number five with a swing of his massive axe.
Two left.
I’m out of fireballs, so I select Billy, wage an attack, and cut the ogre on my left to pieces. I wheel around just in time to see the other character take out the last ogre with a yellow fireball.
Victory surges in my chest.
We won!
But it’s too dangerous to celebrate in our weakened states. We have to find more restorative potions, and fast.
I use my joystick to move my character around the board, looking for the spinning red vials that will heal me. When I’ve gathered enough, I head toward the next safe village.
The other character follows close behind.
A little bar flashes on the left side of the screen.
The second player is saying something.
I really shouldn’t talk to Eric. Especially not when I’m struggling so hard to hold onto the anger I should feel for him.
The little line indicating he’s speaking shoots across the screen in spurts. I’ve managed to avoid speaking to Eric during our late-night gaming sessions for the last two months, but, to be honest, every time that line moves, a little more of my willpower falls away.
Maybe I should answer Eric. In the last six hours he stopped me from rearranging Vanessa’s face, and he found my bookbag. I at least owe him a hi.
I lift the headset from the holder on the chair, slide it onto my head, and press the activate button.
“Can’t sleep?” Eric’s smooth voice sends a wave of shivers through my body.
My stomach clenches, and goose bumps skitter across my skin. I bite my lower lip, trying to control my racing heart. Why do I still respond so strongly to him, especially after all he’s done to me?
“I was going to ask you the same question,” I reply.
“I asked you first.”
“I asked you second.”
I could almost see his shoulders lift and fall in a shrug.
“Well, I was on for our usual ten o’clock. When you didn’t show up, I figured I’d wait.”
I raise an eyebrow incredulously. “You waited for me for almost four hours?”
“Wow. It sounds so much longer when you say it out loud.”
“What were you doing for four hours?”
“Playing, mostly. Killing ogres, collecting potions. Some guy kept attacking me from the back, so I had to put his head on a spike. You know. The usual stuff.”
I wrinkle my nose.
“You don’t usually miss our game,” he says. There’s a carefulness in his voice. “Is the world ending or something?”
I blow up my cheeks like a puffer fish. He has no idea how close he is to the truth.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“So tell me. How do we end?”
The Stonewall-Triton Business Academy stomps it into oblivion.
I don’t mention my new, unwanted class, and instead go along with Eric’s line of questioning.
“A tsunami. We’re all going to get swept into the Pacific Ocean. I’ve already hugged and kissed my family. You should probably do the same.”
“Wait. You know the world is ending and you’re playing a video game?”
I shrug. “I said goodbye first.”
He laughs out loud, making me feel warm inside. I like making him laugh.
“Red, you’re addicted to this game. I should probably stage an intervention.”
“I need an intervention? You’re the one playing for four hours straight and putting people’s heads on spikes.”
“It was a digital spike. Jeez, Red, you make me sound like a crazy person.”
I laugh softly and adjust my gaming chair so I’m leaning back a little.
“So, now that we’re friends, I think we should talk about something.”
My stomach twists. “Um. Okay.”
“Are we still on for the RPX convention next week, or is that not something friends do?”
I let out a relieved breath.
Ogre Wars is a MMORPG or massive multi-player online role player game. I’ve been honing my skills on it since this past summer in preparation for the RPX Gaming Convention next weekend. Eric got us two tickets months ago. They’re having a special Ogre Wars event. Around a hundred people will play together and the highest ranked players will qualify to play in a seasonal tournament, then in the world championships. The winning team gets a million dollars. I don’t expect Eric and me to win anything at the convention. After all, these are some of the greatest gamers in the world. Still, it will be fun, and I at least want to place well.
“I think that’s exactly what friends do.”
“Good. Team Lightning Balls is back in action.”
“I told you I hated that name.”
“Yeah, well, you were outvoted.”
“By who? There’s only two of us.”
“By Daniel Pike, the wondering knight from the Blackwater.”
I roll my eyes. “Your character can’t have a vote.”
“Sure he can.”
“Since when?”
“It was always the case. You should really read the fine print on your contract.”
“You didn’t give me a contract.”
“It’s in the mail.”
I roll my head back and close my eyes.
“Look. I can’t show up to a gaming convention with a team name like Lightning Balls. Maybe if we were two boys it’d be funny, but for a boy and girl team, it just sounds weird.”
“Fine. What name do you want?”
“Strike Force Ultra.”
He groans. “It sounds like a poo
rly marketed deodorant.”
I laugh out loud. “It does not. It’s better than Lightning Balls.”
“Okay. I’m willing to compromise. What if we do a mash-up? Like Lightning Strike, or Ball Force, or Ultra Balls.”
I laugh so hard tears prick the corners of my eyes.
“Team Ultra Balls? No way.”
“Well, it was my favorite out of the three.”
“No. Nothing with balls. What about Team Lightning.”
“Just Lightning?” He pauses for a minute, and I imagine his face squeezing in thought. “It’s simple. Okay, Red. Team Lightning it is.”
I do a little dance in my chair.
“But if there’s already a Team Lightning, we’re going with Ultra Balls. Deal?”
“No way! But I’ll consider Lightning Strike.”
“Fine. Team Lightning or, if that’s unavailable, Team Lightning Strike. Perfect.”
“Yeah. Perfect,” I whisper. Something inside of my chest expands. Some light that comes with talking to Eric and having his voice wrap around me. I hold onto it for a few moments, then allow it to float away into oblivion.
We’re just friends now, I remind myself. Just friends.
“I’ll pick you up at seven then. We can have breakfast on the plane and be at Hartford in thirty minutes.”
The convention is in Hartford, Connecticut. Eric would be flying us there on his private jet.
“Sounds fun. I’ll let Duckie know.”
“Good. I was nervous you wouldn’t want to go since…”
I don’t have to hear the rest of his words to know what he was going to say.
Since we broke up.
“But I’m glad you’re going. It’s going to be fun, and you’ve worked so hard to be good at this game. You deserve a spot in that competition.”
“You do too,” I say.
“Yeah, but you pick up skills way faster than I do. You’re going to do great. Who knows? Maybe you’ll outrank everyone and get to the world championship.”
I scoff. “Yeah right. I’m not that good. You just saved me from five ogres, remember?”
“You’re better than you think. Don’t doubt yourself, Red. You’re going to do great.”
I smile softly, and we’re silent for a few minutes.
