“So why do you want to come to my house?” Brandon asked Wenchy.
She flipped her honey-brown hair and said, “Why else? To meet your mom.” She wore a long white dress that grew transparent around her ankles, where it was met by stockings of a similar hue and matching pumps. Her hair was done up in a style Brandon didn’t recognize, but it used a circlet of hair across the back of her head, leaving the rest to dance just above her shoulders.
It made perfect sense. His mom hadn’t met anyone from the DMIC. Why didn’t they all come together, though? He felt nervous. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll come the first week, then O-Man, then HIM, then Velvet Katherine, and then Veero. Oh yeah. Then Jackie will show up.”
“Who is Jackie?” he thought. He was about to ask when his mom greeted them at the door, wearing a dusting apron that he had never seen before. It was a lacy faded yellow linen with an acorn in the center. His mom nodded and Wenchy grinned. Then his mom put her hand on her own head and lifted it off. Wenchy did the same, and they exchanged heads.
Oddly enough, not a single drop of blood was lost in the transaction, but the sight caused Brandon to trip and hit the floor just over the threshold. The room spun and everyone’s words melded together in what sounded strangely like, “Detention.”
Brandon awoke.
He rolled over and checked the clock, the numbers providing a reassuring anchor to the real world. “Another dream that makes no sense,” he thought, although he could still see Wenchy clearly when he closed his eyes.
* * * * *
It was finally Friday; the school was filled with a slowly-growing contagious energy mixed in equal parts with a sensation of time running in slow motion. Just about everyone except the geeks anticipated the first game of the year that evening. Only the geeks were unfazed by the pre-game momentum, but even they counted the hours until the weekend. Probably the only person in the school who wasn’t thinking about the weekend in any way was Dana. She had Brandon in her sites.
She knew where he finished third period and had followed him unseen since then. Nothing suspicious so far, she thought. But I’m sure he just wants me to think that. You can’t fool rogue/assassins. Especially twentieth-level ones.
He passed by a hall and then doubled back and picked up speed. She dodged between uncaring seniors and followed at a distance. He was making a beeline for a dusty side door. He’s going to get away! She fumbled with her backpack and found her camera. It was actually an old cellphone that didn’t work, except for the camera. She spread her fingers over the back and parted them slightly, while using her thumb to snap a few pictures. To the untrained eye, it looked like she was just fumbling with her outlawed cellphone, hardly an eye-raising event in Westchester High.
Brandon reached out to the door and pulled it open. Man do I have to pee, he thought. I’ll go this way because there’s a bathroom right inside. He blinked at the reflection in the glass and then hurried inside. What was that? It looked like a tie-dyed t-shirt.
Dana dropped her backpack to hide her face and counted to ten. Once Brandon was out of sight, she hurried towards the door and threw it open, ready with her pseudo-cell phone.
The empty hallway, the low hum of the water fountain’s cooler, and the boy’s sign on the bathroom door all mocked her, especially the last. That was the one place no girl could go, on threat of losing all of your girl points. Dana didn’t dare; she wondered if Lauren could get away with it. Maybe that was how tomboys were made? Girls who had lost all their girl points and now lived on in quiet agony, in some strange double-life?
Her mind ratcheted back to the situation at hand. She knew he was hiding from her. There’s no way he just needed to go. She shook her pseudo-phone at the bathroom and scurried away before the bell rang. She still had lunch and then sixth period.
At lunch, she was quieter than usual. Jimmy rolled her eyes at her, knowing that she was waiting for Brandon to drop some morsel of information. Then she would pounce and pepper him with questions about third period. However, no such opportunity arose. Jimmy tried to bait her into a conversation about Garman Star cards, but she wasn’t falling for that. Everyone was talking about the game or reading and she felt like screaming in frustration. This tactic always works in anime`s, she shouted inside her mind.
* * * * *
Sixth period was Algebra and Brandon knew something was wrong when a girl leaving the class before drew a line quickly under her throat. That meant only one thing: a pop quiz.
Sure enough, half-way through the class, Mrs. Turner told them to close their books and to get out a sheet of paper. She eyed them all with a satisfied smirk. “This is to test how well you’ve been paying attention. There will be ten questions on this week’s lessons.”
Brandon had been applying, or at least, trying to apply the lessons that Wenchy had taught him. He wasn’t at all sure about them, but he figured that he’d know if they worked soon enough. Mrs. Turner’s brusque voice shattered his thoughts. “Begin!”
He looked up at the blackboard to find it decorated with her usual cryptic handwriting. He squinted and went to work.
She took up the quizzes and told them to get busy on the problems at the end of the chapter. “I want you to think about this over the weekend,” she informed them, again smirking. “That’s why I’m going to grade them now.”
Brandon sighed and looked across the room. No-one was really happy about it, although the people in the front row looked less dispirited than everyone else. When Mrs. Turner returned the quizzes at the end of the class, Brandon was shocked to see written on his paper “85% — B”. A rush of victory-inspired adrenaline hit him like a flash fire. While most people trudged out of class, he walked out with his head held high. “For once, for once, I got it right in the here and now,” he thought to himself. He wasn’t sure what he really meant by that, but it sounded good.
Outside in the hall, Dana took her books from her locker very slowly, and then took them in and out of her backpack. When Mrs. Turner’s class let out,
she scanned the crowd for Brandon. There he was! Wait, was that really him? He had the same shirt on, same haircut, so yes, it was him. But he looked different somehow. Someone jostled her as the class next door let out and that refocused her thoughts on the mission. He was half-way down the hall already and so she had to walk quickly without looking like she was running. She found the tall people in the mass of teenagers and dodged from one to another as she closed on Brandon. He took the hallway towards the gym and she rounded the corner, only to run straight into Missy, the relationship and advice queen.
Missy stood about five foot five, which made her taller than Dana, and when she wore platform shoes like she did today, she was a whole head taller. She seemed almost too cute, with blonde curls, carefully heated into shape, pitying blue eyes, and lips that were nearly always pursed, as she pondered the relationship travails of the entire school.
“I never thought I’d see this day,” Missy said, looking down at Dana. “And you’re so obvious, too!”
“I’m what?” Dana asked, for a moment trying to get past the girl, when it hit her who it was and how miserable her life could become.
“Really, now. Stop trying to deny it!” She looked down the hall at Brandon. “Hmm. Not a bad choice, but it wouldn’t be my choice, of course.”
Dana blinked. “No way. You think I –”
“Have the hots for him?” suggested Missy, finishing her sentence. “I don’t have to. You’re following him and hiding from him, and you’re using your cellphone to take pictures of him. You’re hopeless, even for a geek.”
Dana blushed and tried to get the cellphone into her backpack. Where was that expandable lightsaber when she needed it? Never lend your weapons to newbies, she reminded herself. Wait, why was she even blushing? He did look different, somehow, more interesting — but that wasn’t it, she told herself. She had gotten caught and by Missy at that.
“Oooh,” said Missy. “How cute! A geek in love. I have just the advice too. I wrote it two weeks ago, in response to ‘Sleepless in Science Class’. Don’t worry about letting him know you exist. Don’t get desperate, either. All you really have to do is show up and be yourself. He’ll see you for who you are and the rest is happily ever after!”
Dana looked up at her. “That’s terrible advice! No guy would ever figure that out! Besides, I’m not interested in him. N. O. T. Not. I just — uhm — have to know what he’s up to.”
Missy blinked and smiled at her as if she had completely contradicted herself.
Dana looked down the hallway. Brandon was gone. She bunched up her fists and said, “May you be tormented by tiny dragons who hate your hair and have nacho breath!” She stomped off.
Missy laughed. Geeks were such fun, even if she only understood half of what they said.
* * * * *
Four o’clock came none too soon, and finally the school day was over. Brandon walked down the hall overflowing with students on their way towards bikes, busses, and for the fortunate, cars. He had avoided thinking about the DMIC for most of the day, but he didn’t have school to distract him anymore.
“You probably won’t have to do anything, but when we get involved, you never know. We could always use a gopher.” Those were Wenchy’s words. They weren’t as improbable as what came next.
He had asked, “How will I know?”
“O-Man will find you. You’ll have to look very carefully, because he’ll blend in.”
Brandon still couldn’t believe it. How could that guy blend in anywhere? Then he remembered the incident in the garage. Was it something like that?
Brian’s voice shook him away from his thoughts. “You ready to roll?”
“Yeah.” Then on a sudden impulse he added, “Race ya.”
Brian arched his eyebrows. “You’re on!”
They walked over to the bike rack, and unlocked their bikes. Brian stood up on his bike and asked, “Count of pee?”
Brandon laughed out loud. “We haven’t done that since eighth grade. You sure?”
“Sure, man! It’s Friday!”
Brandon took a deep breath. Brian did some crazy stuff from time to time, but not as often as Lauren. He thought she had some kind of adrenaline imbalance or something. Brandon gave a thumbs up as he clambered on to his bike too and stood up.
They both crouched down and stood up with each number in the countdown, nearly shouting, “One…two…pee!” Then they tore off down the sidewalk, pedalling as fast as they could go, dodging wannabe-popular people, elementary schoolers, and the occasional road hazard.
Seven minutes later, Brandon pulled into his driveway, the triumphant winner of the race. “I’m home!” he announced, throwing open the front door.
“Hi,” his mom called out. “Do you have DMIC today?”
He shivered unconsciously. She made it sound like some kind of weird disease. “Not exactly,” he said, heading into the kitchen. “I might have to do some stuff at the game, but probably not.”
She was in the pantry, pulling out a loaf of french bread for dinner. “How’s the studying part of it going?”
“Hold on a minute.” He dropped his backpack on the table and rifled through it. Finding his Algebra folder, he pulled out the quiz with a dramatic flourish.
Her eyes scanned the top page and then she met his triumphant smile with one of warm surprise. “That’s pretty good. I’m impressed.”
“Mrs. Turner’s questions were boring, though. Wenchy’s are way more interesting.” He immediately clapped a hand over his mouth and fought the blush that crept over his cheeks.
His mom looked at him askance before retrieving a cutting knife for the bread. “They do talk to me, you know, and I do know all of their names.”
“Oh yeah. I guess I’m a little paranoid about telling anyone anything specific.”
“Uh huh.” He never knew what she meant when she said that, so he just let it drop. “So what are we having for dinner?”
* * * * *
The Westchester High School stadium was a utilitarian concrete stadium, not too large, and not too small for a bustling high school. The floodlights were on and the parking lot had started to fill up an hour before the game began, with clusters of people milling about the stadium. The football players were stretching on the field and the band had gathered by the entranceway, ready to put on the pre-game show.
Brian was hanging out with two of his jock friends, waiting for Brandon and Lauren to show up. They had both decided to try out for the basketball team. Tim, a lanky guy with dark curly hair teased Brian. “You should try out too. Don’t worry. You can’t be so good that everyone else will quit in shame.”
Brian laughed. “That’s not it, man.”
His other friend, Steven, who stood about the same height as Brian, but with a thicker chest and crimson flattop said, “Maybe he thinks that Coach Jones doesn’t like him.”
They both looked at him and said together, “Coach Jones doesn’t like anyone!”
“I know!”
“Whatever,” said Brian, smiling. “I just like basketball. I never said I was like superstar good at it.”
Just then another group of guys walked by. One of them looked vaguely like Mafia hired muscle: broad-shouldered, dark-eyed, and not too bright. Another guy with a muscle shirt accompanied him, flexing his thick arms with obvious dragon temporary tattoos. A scrawny kid tagged along, hidden beneath a scruffy red hoodie and wearing a t-shirt that read, “You’re the Loser!”
“That’s because you don’t have the drive,” said the Mafia-esque guy.
Brian looked over at him and then shrugged. “Nope, guess not. But I can still beat you at twenty-one.”
“So? I can beat you at one-on-one.” After thinking for a moment, he added, “And at Horse.”
The scrawny guy said in a low voice, “Hey Tony, only middle-schoolers play that.” The other guy looked at Brian and made tough-guy faces while flexing his muscles.
Brian’s friends laughed under their breaths. Tony turned to look at them when a sing-songy female voice called out from across the parking lot, “Ooh Tony!” He leered at her and then looked back at them. “Later dweebs.”
“Can you really?” asked Tim.
“Yup. He’s so chicken now he won’t even try, though,” said Brian.
“Weird.”
“Yeah.”
They stood and talked for a few more minutes until Brian showed up, and Lauren right behind him. Tim and Steven said they were going to hang out with some guys on the basketball team. “That’s cool,” said Brian. “I’ll catch you guys Tuesday.” They went over to the far gate to find the guys from the team.
“What’s Tuesday?” asked Brandon.
“We’re going to shoot some hoops down at the park. Wanna come?”
Brandon shrugged and pretended to think about it. “Maybe next time.”
Lauren butted in. “Who cares about Tuesday? Let’s make some eagle soup! Whoo yah! Let’s get seats close enough so that we can throw things at the other team!”
Brandon laughed and they followed her to the near gate to get their tickets.
* * * * *
At still another gate, O-Man snapped his fingers so that the ticket girl would pay attention. She blinked. “Where did you come from?” she asked, dazed.
O-Man sighed and said, “Just over there. One ticket for the game.” She looked sidelong at him and gave him a ticket in exchange for his dollars.
As he walked away, she craned her neck to follow him and then said to the girl opposite her, “Did you see that? That guy just disappeared!” The girl next to her yawned. “I didn’t even realize you were talking to a guy.”
“He wasn’t a guy like our age,” she said.
“Can I buy a ticket, please?” asked an irate mom at her window, waving a handful of bills.
“Oops. Yes. Coming right up, m’am.”
As he walked into the stadium, he checked his pockets once again. Cell phone? Check. Emergency key on the ring of keys? Check. Adjustable wrench? Check. He examined his jacket, by pulling his arms back and stretching for a moment. Sure enough, the bright orange flaps inside showed and would easily reveal his location to anyone nearby. He was set.
After scouting out his seat, he ventured down to the concession area. The concession stands were permanent structures housed in concrete and built into the stadium themselves. Only two were open, and the one at the far right had the metal shutters pulled down. O-Man walked to the far right stand and then to its right entrance and knocked. A deep, masculine voice called out from inside, “What’s the password?” O-Man asked, “What’s the password?” The door opened, and a mass of computers, maps, and snacks greeted him — that, and HIM and Wenchy. O-Man stole inside and took off his jacket. Wenchy and HIM blinked.
“Where’s Katey?” he asked. Wenchy gave him a sour look and cleared her throat.
“Katherine is keeping an eye on the visitor’s end zone. Good thing I don’t have the comms on, isn’t it?”
O-Man grinned nervously.
* * * * *
A man wearing a bulky black leather jacket and a scarf in orange and white that fell to his navel walked up to the ticket booth. He wore three pairs of sunglasses, each smaller than the last, and fiddled with the keys in his pocket, the pencil in his jacket pocket, or his scarf. His fingers were nervous and sweaty while his small beady eyes constantly scanned the area as if he expected ninjas to jump out of the darkness and carry him away. At the ticket booth, he presented his money and said, “One adult. Where’s the darkest part of the stadium?” The teenager inside the booth stared back at him. “I’m sensitive to light.”
The teenager thought hard and then replied, “That’d probably be the bathroom, I guess.” The man growled at him and snatched the ticket out of his hand.
The man twirled his scarf back and forth around his fingers. The setup was ideal, he thought, except for all those lights. A complex game that few people understood completely but inspired passion was the focal point. Because it was a school sponsored event, the school administration added another set of rules, and then the city added another layer still. The attendees were volatile youth, protective parents, and easily-swayed referees. He rubbed his hands together in glee. It was a perfect night for complexity.
