Gamelit 38 (everyone loves a)

            “Isn’t it capping?”

            “Hell yeah,” Fish said. “That’s a prime ride, Shellie.” He elbowed Nick. “Jealous?”

            Shellie leaned on the hood of her beater and grinned at him. “He’s not jealous, because he gets a ride whenever he wants.”

            Some good-natured and completely predictable hooting at that. Blythe shook her head the way she always did when the off-color jokes happened, and this time, Nick noticed. Or at least, he felt more self-conscious about it. Shellie didn’t care, of course, she was cool like that. But he wondered suddenly if listening to ribald humor turned Blythe off. Did it sound uncivilized? Of course, everyone talked like this now. It wasn’t like the fantasy world in Omen, where courtly knights avoided certain kind of talk around women.

            Why was he thinking about this? “It’s cool, Shellie. How’s it ride?”

            “Yeah, it looks like it’s about to fall apart,” Falcon said. “Is it duct taped on the inside?”

            “Check it and see, loser.” When he mimed throwing something at her, she chortled. “No, really, have a look. You’ve got car experience, you’ll be able to tell if it’s any good. My dad said it was good enough to wreck and that’s it.”

            “My sister went through two cars before she stopped smashing into random things.” Fish peered into the passenger side window. “Women can’t drive.”

            “Oh, man, I can’t believe you said that,” Falcon said, laughing.

            “Shellie can take it.”

            “Not going there, Nick might beat me up.”

            “Heck with Nick, I will.” Shellie made a fist.

            It was to learn the nature of Shellie’s surprise that Nick had abandoned gaming to meet everyone at the pizza place—he’d wanted to talk to his friends anyway about the KeepinTouch, so it had worked out—and he’d glad he’d come out. He hadn’t made it out of the weird mental shift he’d talked about with Blythe, and the sun felt good to him… the real sun, in the real world. Being out with his friends felt like the most important thing in the universe; how much longer would they be doing this? In a couple of years they’d all scatter for college or jobs. One day, it would be the last day they went out together. Would they even realize?

            “You lost him,” Fish said. “Look, he’s off in his own world. Again.” Fish snapped his fingers in front of Nick’s face. “Earth to Furry, come in, Furry.”

            “I’m not a furry,” Nick said, because Fish expected it, but without the usual emphasis.

            “He’s dying, he needs food.” Fish pushed him toward the entrance. “Come on, dude. You’re toasted.”

            Breakfast had been big, but pizza always sounded good. “Sure.”

            “I’m buying,” Shellie said, and flexed. “Check me, I am fully autonomous. I am a financial weapon.”

            “Better get to work,” Falcon said to Nick, “or your girlfriend’s gonna out-earn you, and you know what that means.”

            Nick tried not to glance at Blythe. “Don’t go there, no one wants to hear it. Besides,” lifting his voice, “I’ve got news too. And a task.”

            “Oooh, a TASK,” Fish said.

            “Everyone loves a task,” Blythe agreed cheerfully.

            “Much better than a project,” Falcon said. “It’s not a project, right?”

            “Everyone hates projects,” Shellie said.

            “It’s a task,” Nick said firmly. “Practically a quest.”

            “This oughtta be good,” Fish said. “Either that, or supremely awful. Let’s find out which.”

            Once the pizza had delivered, Nick told them about the KeepinTouch. “…so that’s the story. I want to do updates for Jonah about the beta. He’d want to know.”

            Fish was dipping his rolled-up pizza slice in garlic sauce. “He’s not gonna hear them while unconscious.”

            “Then when he wakes up, he can listen to them,” Blythe said. “I think it’s a great idea, Nick. I’d love to record some things for your task. We’ve gotten so much out of the game. It’s a big part of our life.”

            “Yeah, man, can you imagine if he actually wakes up and does hear them? You think he’d call us?” Falcon peeled a pepperoni slice off Blythe’s serving as she batted at him. “Maybe we could get famous that way. Or invited up to Omen HQ. Get priority passes to the next GalaxicaCon?”

            “That sounds pretty sweet,” Shellie admitted. “I’d take a free pass to the con.”

            “You got the credentials?” Fish poked Nick. “I’ve got some free time. I’m made of free time since someone ditched us for a beta.”

            “I’ve got them, yeah. But don’t put anything on there you wouldn’t want your parents listening to.”

            “Aw, seriously? Jonah’s not someone’s dad. He’s with it. He’d get our humor.”

            Nick thought of his dad, who was apparently with it enough to make it onto reddit as ‘that cool wizard guy.’ “Yeah, but the KeepinTouch is being filtered by a lady in Omen’s marketing department. Do you really want to get your account locked for saying something inappropriate?”

            “Point. I’ll keep it normal. As normal as possible, anyway, given my utter awesomeness.”

            “Is there anytime in particular you want these done?” Blythe asked.

            “Whenever,” Nick said. “I figure I’ll just keep it going until he wakes up, or someone turns the thing off.”

            “The KeepinTouch or the dude’s life support?” Fish asked.

            Nick reached for the last slice. “Shut up, Fish.”

            “Oh, right, too far, huh.”

            “Tasteless,” Shellie agreed. “You need to work for the jokes, Fish, not grab the low-hanging fruit.”

            Blythe covered her face as Falcon started snickering. Fish started to say something, then stopped. “Oh wait. That was a trap.” He pointed at Shellie. “I’m right, that was totally a trap!”

            “He can be taught,” Shellie intoned. “Anyone want more? I do.”

            When the gathering wound down, Shellie offered to drive him back, or “anywhere you feel like. Maybe coffee?” And he said yes, because it sounded fun. He was pretty sure what he was feeling was fun. Not jealousy because his girlfriend had a car (no matter how run down), and not frustration because he didn’t want to be driven around anymore. And not irritation because she hadn’t asked how his mom was, and hadn’t been there for him when he’d needed someone. He didn’t want to go home yet, because being out still felt important and real. But riding shotgun with Shellie was supposed to be more… something. More exciting. Cooler.

            “You don’t know how relieved I am to be able to leave the house whenever I want,” was her opener, which didn’t help. “I hated waiting on other people to do stuff. And home is so smothering. I can’t wait to blow this stand.”

            He glanced at her. She did look satisfied. In control. With the driver’s side window rolled down, the wind was tousling her short hair around her face, and he remembered the intensity that had attracted him in the first place. The devil-may-care attitude, and the way she just breezed through things, good and bad, as if they didn’t matter and couldn’t stop her. He was sure nothing would… or at least, he had been, until she’d avoided him during Mom’s crisis. She had, hadn’t she? “Why didn’t you text me? When my mom was in the hospital.”

            “I figured you’d be busy with family.”

            “Well, yeah… but you’re my girlfriend. That’s quasi-family.”

            She snorted. “Not really. Look, I didn’t want to bug you. I would have been a distraction.”

            “That’s the point,” Nick said. “I could have used a distraction.”

            “When that kind of thing goes down, you don’t want a distraction, hon. You want someone to lean on.”

            “You saying I can’t lean on you?”

            “Anytime,” she said. “Just not in hospitals. Not my gig.” She glanced at him, and maybe something in his face registered because her tone got less blasé. “Look, they just make me uncomfortable, okay? I’m sorry, but it’s just… not something I’m good at.”

            “How come?”

            “I just don’t like it.” She shrugged. “The smell, the way it looks, all the old people and the dying people. It’s depressing.”

            This conversation was never going to go anywhere useful. Trying to pin Shellie down made her aggressive, and then there would be a fight. Nick didn’t feel like fighting. “I get it. I didn’t like it either.”

            “Things worked out, anyway, right?”

            “Yeah.”

            She nodded. “I’ll buy you coffee. Double-cap, yeah?”

            “Sounds great.”

            Over coffee they succeeded in having a normal conversation, mostly because he listened to her talk about the new car and whether her parents would keep fighting her about getting a job during the school year. “They’re willing to listen, car insurance is expensive.” But he was aware, listening to her, that Mom’s accident had rearranged more parts of his worldview than he’d guessed. Before, he hadn’t realized that girls might actually listen to you. Want to know about your problems, and want to help. That they could be interested in your inner life. That he had an inner life that mattered to him, and that he might be willing to share with the right person.

            Of course, he had no idea what Shellie’s inner life was like. But she never wanted to talk deep. About the surface stuff, and about things that interested her, and about how much she wanted to get out of dodge the moment she could leave for college, sure. But Nick, watching her chatter over her mocha, couldn’t imagine her having the kind of conversations with Galatea that he was having. He couldn’t imagine her liking her parents, even later, as an adult, after they all outgrew their teenage angst. And most importantly, he couldn’t imagine her driving to see him when he was scared and feeling alone, the way he could imagine Blythe doing so, because Blythe already had.

            Oh hell. He couldn’t imagine the drama he’d be unleashing in the friend group if he dumped Shellie for Blythe. He wasn’t sure the group would survive. But sticking with Shellie when he felt this way was wrong.

            He was still thinking about it when she dropped him off. Dad was in the kitchen, staring into the pantry so pensively Nick couldn’t help stopping. “Um, Dad?”

            “So many things I could eat,” Dad said. “And yet the one thing I want, we don’t have. To grocery, or not to grocery, that is the question.”

            “What don’t we have?”

            “Popcorn.”

            “Oh, yeah, we haven’t had popcorn for a while.” Nick sat on the barstool by the kitchen counter. “Dad? How do you pick the right girl?”

            “By vibe.”

            The answer was so unexpected Nick blurted a laugh. “What? Seriously?”

            “Cross my heart and hope to die.” His father bowed slightly, pressing his hand to his heart, and it was a gesture that Mom did too. Which of them had done it first? And then passed it to the other person? Thinking of his parents as having the same kind of in-jokes and banter that he had with his friends was mind-blowing and weird. But also a clue, wasn’t it? “Why, ready to settle down?”

            “Not even slightly,” Nick said, sighing.

            “For the best. You’ve got time. And I… I have no popcorn.”

            “You should get some.”

            “I should! Want to come?”

            Did he? “Can I drive?”

            His dad threw him the keys.