I grin and slide my phone across the table, feeling a little rush at Jason’s words, despite what I think about his approach to dating. He’s still my hero, however flawed, in the gaming space. He’s a local icon.
Ryan and Laura place their phones in the center with ours, and the game begins.
The game I’ve chosen is a nightmare of a thing, and even though I know it’s not nearly as good as the chinchilla game, it’ll do. You play as a slice of cheese, trying to find a hoagie to live inside. It’s some weird, promotional game tied to a chain of delis here in Philadelphia—Ilagan & Weir Hoagies. The animation is terrible and janky, and even when you find the right sandwich, it’s almost impossible to get the cheese in there. It’s a weird puzzle game that makes almost no sense, and is no doubt extra infuriating to people who live near those delis. Apparently if you win, you get a dollar or two off a sandwich. I wonder how many people have actually won and scored the coupon. Judging from the handful of reviews in the app, probably not many.
I’ve definitely got Ryan beat, though. He’s got some odd platforming game about a sentient piece of candy on a mission to collect a bunch of gems, which looks like Candy Crush meets Super Mario Bros. It’s a little suspect, as if it might have been accidentally released by one of those publishers, unfinished. We spend a few minutes debating that idea, until Laura silences us with a wave of her hand and shows us the game she found.
It’s magnificent.
It’s one of those gamification creations that attempts to get people to exercise in exchange for points and leveling up a character. The more you work out, the more chores you get done, the more experience you earn, etc. In theory, a wonderful idea. There are a bunch of games like it, and they encourage kids and adults to get outside. But this one uses augmented reality, and gives you things to chase. Bad guys and the like. Sort of like Pokémon GO.
Great idea.
Except someone had hacked into the game, and instead of villains to chase, there were...
Well, there’s no polite way to say it. There were pictures of penises. Lots of them. Looking as though they were poorly photoshopped over whatever the original graphic was supposed to be.
None of us can stop laughing. Laura holds her phone up so the augmented reality kicks in, and there, in the coffee shop, is a giant penis, waiting for us to chase it away. Tears are streaming down my face, and I spot numerous people in the place staring at us. I try to choke back my laughter, and the four of us slowly calm down.
“Jason?” Laura asks, nodding at his phone, still facedown on the table. “Can you beat that?”
“My dear,” Jason begins, and I feel myself exhale as Ryan glances at me, shaking his head “no” quickly. The affection level with these two has very quickly gone from their occasionally weirdly flirty notes to each other—in our group emails and Discord and Slack channels, mind you—to occasionally snuggling up in public and whispering sweet nonsense to each other.
“My pick is nothing compared to that,” Jason concludes. “I’m abstaining this round. Victory is yours.”
“The Autofocus Café on Thirty-Seventh and Walnut!” Laura exclaims triumphantly, grabbing her phone and raising her hands up in the air, wielding the smartphone like a little sword. Ryan and I groan. Laura is on the completely other side of town, out in University City near Drexel University and Penn—as is that coffee shop, surrounded by expensive stores and boutique restaurants and nowhere to park. And I could live forever without seeing the photography gallery in that shop again, all weird experimental stuff by local college kids I don’t understand.
“That’s right, deal with it.” She leans back in her chair, a victorious smile on her face, and winks at Jason. “Now let’s get to work.”
“Yes!” Jason exclaims, slapping the table excitedly. “You have new script pages for us, Aaron?” He gestures at me, and I open my computer back up, hitting a couple of keys.
“It should be in the shared Dropbox now,” I say, trying to mask the bundle of nerves I feel myself becoming, all their eyes ready to look at what I’ve been writing. “Load it on up, and let’s do a reading.”
Everyone around the table grows quiet, and I watch their eyes staring at their glowing screens. Jason is reading on his iPhone, while Laura reads on a tablet she’s pulled out of her bag. I glance over at Ryan, who is looking at his phone, thumbing through quickly, and I can tell he’s just skimming the pages. He’s already read this more times than I can count.
I hear Jason scoff and look up to see him glaring at his screen.
“What is it?” I venture. I know it’s a bad idea to ask for feedback in the middle of a reading, but all signs are pointing to him not liking whatever he’s scoping out.
“It’s just...” His mouth flattens into a thin line. “I don’t know, Aaron, does it always have to be some race thing?” He swipes at something and turns the phone to me, highlighting a few lines. It’s the moment when the Elf is berating the Rogue for using a microaggression.
“Listen, you can use a fantasy world to discuss bigger issues going on in the real world,” I protest. “That’s what makes good fantasy, in my opinion. It says something about our world, while exploring a made-up one—”
“Aaron, it’s a video game,” Jason says, putting his phone down.
“So?” It’s my turn to scoff. “Games like Mass Effect and Dragon Age explore racism, xenophobia... The Elder Scrolls series absolutely digs into classism and—”
“It’s a mobile game.” Jason rubs his forehead. “I’m not trying to change the world here. It’s something for people to play on long train rides. On the bus. On the toilet. It doesn’t have to be art.”
“I’m trying to—”
“Exhaust me?” Jason suggests, grinning. “Come on, keep it simple. Let’s cut out all this filler—”
“Racism isn’t filler!” I exclaim, leaning over on the table. “How can you—”
“Aaron, do you want to write this game or not?” Jason asks, his tone growing cold as he leans back in his chair. “’Cause I need something simple. I’m not trying to alienate my audience with subliminal messages or political statements.”
I take a deep breath and look over at Ryan, who shrugs. He’s not trying to be unhelpful or unsupportive, I know that. He just knows where this conversation is going—we’ve been down similar routes before, and we’re not going to change his mind here.
“Well?” Jason presses.
“I’ll edit it when you cut me a paycheck,” I snap.
I can almost feel the air being sucked out of the room, as all of us sit there in silence. After a few tense moments, Jason turns to Ryan, collecting himself.