Siddiqui. I know that name, but I can’t quite place it.
I scoop the box up and head inside. Once I’m back in my living room, I carefully open it, peeling away the brown paper wrapped around the box. After the second or third tear, I gasp, realizing what’s inside, and shred the rest of the paper off it. I hold the box up, staring at the packaging, the photos depicting what’s inside.
It’s the latest VR headset from Oculus, which is being released after the giant GamesCon convention. They’re supposed to be doing some presentations with these there, but it’s not supposed to hit actual retailers for another month or so.
And it’s here. In my living room.
I flip the box over and see a little card attached to the back. Not a folder, though, or some hurriedly folded bundle of press releases stuffed by a frustrated intern. A personal note in a small light blue envelope.
I open it and pull out a card. There’s a pattern of pixels on the front of it, forming something not quite recognizable, something artsy. Inside, though, written quickly and in the same neat, elegant handwriting...
Log on. Fight back.
H. Siddiqui
Oculus, PR
...and now I recognize the name. The publicist over at Oculus who sent me my first headset, the one I’ve been using to explore in Reclaim the Sun. She’d reached out a while ago, and her email is sitting in my inbox unanswered. I strangle back a sob and inhale sharply, trying not to cry.
She doesn’t have to say anything else. I know she understands.
I grab the headset and the card and race into my room. My desk is still a wreck from the other day, from what happened to Mom. I see my beat-up webcam, dangling haphazardly from the desk, and wince. I realign my computer on the desk, positioning the monitor flush with the straight line of the edge, and scoop my keyboard and mouse off the floor.
My other Oculus headset is also sitting on the floor, upside down, tossed aside carelessly, just like the keyboard, webcam, and everything else was. I grab it, inspecting the sides. It looks fine, and when I glance over at my new one, an idea bubbles up in my mind. I know I could sell the old one, head to the used-gadgets place downtown. I could maybe get $400, without a doubt.
But...
I place the old headset on my bed and grab the new one, fussing with the plastic bags holding the new HDMI cords and the like, to get it all hooked up to my computer.
And then I see it. My little slogan, on my desk.
I stare at the Don’t Read the Comments sign, then back at the note from Oculus. Without a moment’s hesitation, I fold the note in half and place it over my old motto, the notecard covering the frame like a tent. The PR representative’s note stares back at me.
I turn my computer on. The PC hums to life, the sound encouraging.
Log on. Fight back.
That’s exactly what I’m going to do.
13
AARON
Ryan lives just a few blocks away, and since we’ve been inseparable since forever, I know, I just know, that if he got the news around the same time I did, he’ll be out on his front porch waiting for me. It’s that best friend ESP you get after over a decade of hanging out with the same person almost every day.
My phone buzzes while I’m walking toward his house, and I load up the chat client.
RECLAIM THE SUN: CHAT APPLICATION
D1V: Hey so, bit of an odd question for you here.
D1V: But your mom’s practice, it’s the one on 9th and Pine, right? In Philadelphia?
D1V: Don’t be weirded out.
I stop walking and stare at my phone for a beat, then turn back to my house, hurriedly hustling down the sidewalk. I peer around the corner, as if D1V is going to be right there, sitting on my doorstep or something. A ridiculous romantic comedyesque moment flashes through my head, her waiting on my step, the two of us running toward each other in slow motion—
I groan, feeling foolish. Of course she’s not there.
I shake my head and continue toward Ryan’s.
AARON: Hey! Um. Yes? Why? How do you know that?
D1V: Well, I mean, Aaron.
D1V: You aren’t exactly a case study in how to prevent someone from looking you up.
D1V: Your last name is in your profile, and so is the city you live in.
D1V: Also, you told me your mom is a doctor, and there’s only one Dr. Jericho in Philly.
AARON: Ah.
D1V: You even said you didn’t want to be the “next Dr. Jericho” once.
AARON: So, I should be a little more careful, is what you’re saying.
D1V: Maybe. You’re a dude. You have it easier on the Internet.
AARON: Hey, I don’t know about all that.
D1V: How many people have come after you, while gaming with me and being in those articles?
I don’t even have to think, really. The whole thing with Jason and ManaPunk—that’s different. It’s not someone threatening my life, my safety, my family. It’s someone worried about... I don’t know, potential consequences? Not upset at me for just, you know, existing.
AARON: You’re right, I see what you’re saying. I’m sorry.
D1V: It’s fine, just, pointing that out, is all.
D1V: I’m um... I’m sending you something.
AARON: What?
AARON: Like, in the mail?
D1V: No by drone YES IN THE MAIL. I hope you like it, and that it um.
D1V: Uh.
D1V: Brings us closer.
D1V: Or something.
D1V: OKAY I FEEL AWKWARD NOW BYYYYYE.
Closer? I feel like I’m sweating, and I stop walking and sit down on the curb, my feet on the cobblestone streets that line Ryan’s and my neighborhood. I have no idea what to say, and I just stare at the phone for a beat, the chat client window open. It buzzes again, and I refocus, shaking the haze away from staring too long.
D1V: Everything okay over there?
AARON: Yeah, yeah. It’s fine, I’m just...flustered.
D1V: Good kind, or bad kind?
AARON: Can it be both?
D1V: Oh.
AARON: Oh God, not because of you. Good kind because of you. Always good.
AARON: Bad because of my summer job. ManaPunk let me go.
AARON: Apparently I’m too controversial.
D1V: Oh shit.
D1V: Aaron, I’m sorry. That’s my fault, isn’t it?
AARON: Nope, not your fault. Those guys who keep harassing you. Them. Never you.