D1V: Still.
AARON: Still nothing.
I stare at the little message box and can feel myself breathing heavily. I know what I want to say here. I think over the sentence in my head. The benefit of talking to someone via text and online, I suppose. Though if we were to ever meet up in person, I worry that I’ll never find the right words.
AARON: I’d pick you over that summer job, any day, any time.
D1V:
AARON: You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? It’s not your fault. I’ll find something else.
D1V: That’s just it though, isn’t it?
D1V: I’m not doing anything, and I’m still somehow hurting the people I care about.
D1V: Rebekah. My mom. You.
I exhale and stand up again, heading in the direction of Ryan’s once more. It normally takes me about five minutes to walk over there, but D1V’s chats are slowing me down. I’m not the best text-and-walker even under the best of circumstances, but seeing the word “care” so close to D1V saying “you” adds to the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside my chest. That, plus the heart emoji, her mailing me something...
AARON: I’ll be fine. Really. You should focus on yourself.
D1V: That’s not something I’m good at.
D1V: Hell, I only do the streaming to help my mom. I’m using what I make to help pay for her school.
D1V: Heh, and the rent. And the groceries.
AARON: Oh wow. I didn’t know it was that intense. I’m sorry.
AARON: You can make that much streaming though? That’s kind of amazing.
D1V: Some people can. I don’t. I mean, some of it is from that, but most of it is sponsorships.
D1V: Mentioning this or that. And then sometimes I sell stuff that I get sent.
D1V: I usually make more from that than anything else.
AARON: This is blowing my mind. It sounds so hard though.
AARON: I’m sorry that something that’s such a big part of your life makes you so sad.
D1V: It’s okay, she only has a few summer classes left.
D1V: And after all this, I might be done. I’m not sure yet.
AARON: Yeah, I can understand that.
“Aaron!” I hear Ryan shout. I look up from my phone and realize I’m two houses away from his. As in, past his. I walked right by him, staring at my phone and talking to D1V. I spin around, and he’s sitting on the stoop of his porch, waving at me, a sketchbook in his hands. I start walking back, and he shakes his head, his shoulders bouncing in a chuckle as he returns to his drawing.
“Hey.” I lift my chin at him and sit down on the old wood steps. His parents’ house has this quirky shabby-chic look that Ryan’s mom says is on purpose, but Ryan swears is just his parents being lazy. The painted brick siding is peeling, an off-white color. And then there’s the door, an eye-popping bright red against the dull paint everywhere else. The little window boxes that dot the front two windows are meticulously maintained, though, and it does make the home look like something out of an old postcard. His house pops up on Instagram all the time.
Still, when paint chips fall in your drinks every summer, the charm starts to fade as quickly as the color.
“You’re gonna get yourself run over by a car or something,” Ryan says, nodding at my phone. “He called you, too, huh?”
“Yeah.” I look down at my hands. “I’m sorry he let you go. Sucks to be my friend.”
“It sure does, but not for that reason.” He nudges his shoulder against mine, so I know he’s joking. “I seriously don’t care. I’m not mentioned in any of those articles, just you. Why not also fire Laura? Anyone associated with you? It makes no sense, so fuck him and his contracts and stuff.”
“Wait, you didn’t sign it?” I ask. “He said you were going to—”
“Hell, no,” Ryan fumes, closing his notebook. “I’m not going to give him my art with the promise of maybe I’ll get paid. ‘Oh, but what about all the exposure?’ People die from exposure. Don’t try using that line on me. Let him stew over how he’ll get a working demo of his game out in the next two weeks without any art and without a story. All because he’s afraid of some jerks on the Internet? Fuck that.”
I want to hug Ryan.
So I do.
“Come on, man,” Ryan groans, squirming away. “How’s your girlfriend?” He smirks. “You know, the one ruining your career, my career, and sending everything in our little world into a tailspin?”
“Hey, none of this is her fault—”
“Dude, I’m kidding,” he says, pulling out his sketch pad again. “She okay? Any updates?”
“Nothing really,” I say. “Not since...well, everything. I just feel so bad. Her mom. Those people. And it’s not like I can track them down or anything. The police can’t even figure it out. They all use anonymous names, and it’s all just...very soul-crushing.”
“I think if you’re going to be a monster, you should at least have the courage to tell the world that you are one,” Ryan comments, scratching away at something with a pencil. I look over his arm and notice that he’s working on some kind of dragon-type creature. “If you’re so proud to have twisted views that you go out and act on them in public, against people, you should show your face.”
“Agreed.”
“Or at least have your face shown to people.” Ryan makes a disgusted noise. “Sorry you couldn’t find anything.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“Is it weird that I’m having like, anxiety attacks over the fact that I don’t know what I’ll do for the rest of my summer?” He lets out a short laugh. “I kinda had all this—” he slaps his sketchbook “—planned out. Do art for the game. Build my portfolio. Have something truly kickass to showcase for colleges.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault, again.” Ryan gives me a quick look. “Maybe I’ll get a part-time job at the art store at the end of Market Street. Down in Old City? Get some discount supplies for the summer. Or start doing art commissions on Tumblr. That could be fun.” He smiles at me, and I smile back. Endlessly positive, that Ryan. “What are you going to do?”
“Not sure. Play more games, scour the Internet for internships? Write short stories?”
“Good plans.” His expression turns sly. “You could always go meet your girlfriend.”
“Damn it, Ryan.” I shove him lightly. He laughs, and then laughs even harder when my phone buzzes again. “Shut up.”