Reality Heist - Geordi Riker (ready player one ebook TXT) 📗

her arms, “You shouldn’t be so hard on Mom,” she scolds, “You’re not the only one missing Dad. He left us all.”

I glare at her, “Shut up. You shouldn’t be eavesdropping either. Go get ready.”

Her eyes brightened, “So you’re coming?”

I roll my eyes, “Did I ever have a choice?”

She bounces away, happy that I’m coming along. Not much is needed to keep the kid happy. I groan and turn back, leaving the world of drama behind as the computer one beckons. If only life were simply scientific, computerized, if only it all made sense. I resume typing commands into the Commodore, peeling back the layers separating me from changing my grades.

Half an hour later finds me slouching along behind my mom and sister in an older section of New York City, annoyed despite the fact that I am now a solid B student. Over the years, the place has been rebuilt to resemble the age before the information one, whatever that was. So signs hang out from above doors, most in curly handwriting, and windows have lace curtains along the bottom edges. Even the names of the stores are different, the stupid kind, like “Ye Olde Bokke Shoppe”. As if adding an “E” at the end of every word is going to make it sound cool.

Dressed in a blue baby T-shirt and black cargo pants with a chain going from the zipper to my hip, I stand out in an old ladies’ place like this. I guess it’s great for tourists, but really? If we’re going to be doing shit like this all summer, I’m going to end up actually TAKING an online course to get out of it. This sucks. And it doesn’t help that Willow’s having the time of her life. I’m going to have to talk to her about attitude adjustments for the upcoming teenage years. If she wants to be able to skateboard, she’s going to have to start being anti-social at some point. And I have to stage a fight between her and Mom somehow, to get Mom off my case about how Will shows more maturity than I do, even though she's four years younger.

Will points out a store that completely doesn't belong. The door is metallic grey , and made of some sort of lightweight metal. Behind the thick window, computers of every shape and age are displayed, and my interest is immediately perked as my eyes fall on a Commodore '65. It's a year off of what I have, but the pieces are still compatible. And I could definitely use some spare parts. I don't even think of Mom and Will as I make a beeline for the shop, open the door and inhale the air conditioned haven of technology in the midst of dusty streets.

As the door swings open, the two clerks behind the checkout counter along the wall on the right glance up. The older one, a man in his fifties, immediately goes back to inventory, but the younger clerk, a college girl with red hair and freckles stares at me, her eyes widening in shock. I shrug it off, by now I'm used to the way that people in this area react to me and my outfit. But you'd think that a joint like this wouldn't be so surprised that someone like me would show up to check out their stash. Maybe they don't get that many customers. This is a weird spot for a computer store, after all.

An unusual shape catches the corner of my eye, and I zone in on it. Mom claims that I must have A.D.D., but I don't really care. Any weird computer piece piques my interest, I automatically want to know what it is, what model it belongs to, what it's role in the machine is. I cross the small shop in a matter of steps, and pick up the awkwardly shaped keyboard, which is split into two separate keyboards, one for each hand. I'm holding the left handed one, with the right handed one nowhere to be seen. I glance up to see a sign at eye level which reads “DSI and other gaming devices along back”. I grin and stride to the back of the store.

Sure enough, along the back wall is gaming heaven. Joysticks, World of War craft secret code packages and playbooks, anything and everything a gamer needs to waste half their life and even more money on the simple addictive pleasure of reaching the next level and unlocking secret ones. I grin like a Cheshire cat, letting my eyes drink in the sight before I force myself to turn away. I don't have the cash to spend on this stuff, much as I would love to. I don't have a job, and Mom doesn't give me much in an allowance- zilch in case you were wondering. We can't really afford any designer stuff, and it took me forever to get the stuff I did- finding loose change lying around the city isn't as fun as it sounds.

I sigh as I inhale the air. Every shop we've come across so far smelled like old clothes and dust. Here, the air is pure, with the sweet tang of hot computer parts. Beauty in its finest scent. I've got to remember this place. The bus ride was half an hour to get to this part of town, but now there's definitely a point in coming back.

A screen in the corner of the room catches my eye, the flickering images calling to the part of me that loves solving puzzles. I cross the floor as if in a dream, my eyes glued to the screen as vibrant flashes of green, pink, and black flicker in seemingly random alternating patterns. Green. Pink. Black. Pink. Black. Pink. Green. Black. Green. Black. Pink. The pattern continues, never seeming to repeat itself. It makes me think of pi, the never ending number used in almost everything geometry- a course I hate with a fiery passion. I can't tear my eyes away from the screen.

Green. Pink. Black. Green. Black. Green. Pink. Black. Pink. Black. Pink. Green. Black. Pink. Green.

A hand descends on my shoulder, causing me to jump. It's my Mom. "You ready to go, yet?"

"No," I scoff, "I barely got here. I still have to look around."

"Brandee, it's already five o'clock. The store's closing."

“It can't be five already" I protest, sneaking a glance at my cheap watch. The digital numbers blink back at me; 2:51. Where had the time gone? I try to go over what I was just thinking about before my Mom jumped me. It's a haze... the TV. I look up at it, but all I see is my reflection in its blue screen of death. Great. I glance around the store as Mom guides me out, the only other occupants are the two clerks. The red head is staring at me, but when she sees that I've noticed her, she quickly drops her head, her curly read hair covering her face. What was that expression I saw on her pale face? Fear? Worry? Maybe she had tuition troubles, like every other college kid in New York.

I start listening to whatever Mom's rambling on about, "... or maybe McDonald's. Dollar drink days are going on, and I could use a fish fillet."

Will grins at this, "I'm sitting as far away from you as possible." Mom laughs.

I sneak a glance back over my shoulder at the college girl. She's watching us go, her gaze alternating between the three of us, but they always dart back to me. I give her a hard stare and she freezes, staring back at me. Now I know what expression she was trying to hide, her eyes say it all. She's afraid. My eyebrows furrow, what could she be afraid of? She bites her lip, just as the other clerk leans over and clocks her across the back of the head. He looks old enough to be her dad.

Maybe she thought I had stolen something. My hands were shoved in my pockets, and that's normally what thieves do when they're trying to cover up the fact that there's something in there not paid for. I pull one hand out and wave at her. She blinks and her head jerks back in surprise, as if I had just given a rude gesture. Far as I know, a wave means the same thing everywhere, it's a universal greeting. I shrug, and shove my hand back in my pocket after scratching the back of my neck. I roll my neck around, it feels all of the sudden really stiff. I shrug again, and the stiffness goes away. I start walking faster to try to catch up with Will and Mom, thoughts of the red head and the computer parts store in the middle of nowhere drifting through my head.

By the time we get home, my head is spinning with conspiracy theories about the computer store so much that it's turned into a huge headache. After a quick supper of burgers at Abby's, Will insisted that we watch a movie. We watched a sappy romantic comedy, and I got a couple pokes in the ribs because I insisted on commentating, annoying Will to no end. I can't even remember half the plot, and eventually started thinking about the store again. What was the deal with that girl? She just stared at me, scared, while the other one acted as if everything was perfectly normal, even smacking her head to try to get her to go back to work. That was what made it so weird. He didn't ask her what was wrong, he just told her to get back to work. You'd figure the guy would have at least asked her what was wrong, most people would have, it was the logical thing to do after all. Unless you already knew what was wrong.

And that was what was really bothering me, I realize, they knew something. Something about me that I didn't know myself. When I first came in, both had looked up. The guy had gone back to work, as if everything were normal, how most clerks react to someone coming in their customer-less store. But she had kept on staring, and now that I really think about it, I could feel her eyes on my back the whole time I was there. Mom insists that I was there for almost three hours, but it felt a lot more like fifteen minutes. I'm not really attuned to time, so I could be off by another ten minutes, give or take, but not three hours off. Even I'm not that bad with time.

So what had I been doing the rest of the time?

The headache gets so bad, I head to my room, Will”s incessant babbling about the movie ringing in my ears, pounding through my skull like a bass drum . The flimsy walls that separate my closet of a room from the rest of the apartment does little to muffle her loud voice. I lie down, close my eyes, and try to tune her out along with the nighttime New York traffic crawling by.

My stomach grumbles, sending pains of discomfort to my brain. I think I might have food poisoning, but I can't seem t find the strength to haul myself to the kitchen to drink some pickle juice. Weird as it sounds, pickle juice actually helps, makes me puke every time without fail. I can't stand pickles, they just smell gross.

Will's voice is getting louder, meaning either she's coming towards me, or mom's stepped slightly away from her. Either or would cause Will to crank up the volume on her voice, making sure the whole world heard her opinions about some stupid movie over half the country won't bother to watch in theatres, or even buy the DVD. I try to summon the strength to yell at her to shut up, but again, I feel way too exhausted to even twitch.