“Oh God, Aaron,” I breathe. “I’m so, so sorry. I’ve...been there. With my dad, and all that. When he left. I know it’s not easy.”
“Yeah.” His voice sounds so dejected, and I’m not sure what else to say. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a sprawling lake, not too far from where we’ve landed. Maybe a little exploring will help take his mind off things.
“Come on,” I say, heading toward the lake.
Kerrigan is a gorgeous little planet, one of the first ones I claimed with my Armada. The resources here aren’t really worth anything, and what is here—things like wood, water, stone—everyone mostly leaves alone, so we can have this lovely landscape to just hang out in and wander. A home base. I named it after the iconic Zerg-Terran badass that is Kerrigan in the StarCraft series, her rage unforgiving and her love unrelenting. I’ve been telling Rebekah that I hope Christie Golden is at GamesCon this year, so I can gush about my love of her StarCraft novelizations.
When we reach the water, I glance over at Aaron, his gaze focused out across the horizon.
“Alright, I have a silly question,” I start, studying his avatar’s face.
“Okay?”
“What’s with the scar there?”
He laughs. “Oh. I, um, I got really into Lost one summer?” I hear the grin in his voice as he talks. “The entire series was on Netflix, and I had this really awful case of food poisoning from some takeout my mom had brought home, and playing games was just giving me a headache, so...”
“Netflix and ill?” I ask, immediately hating myself for the pun.
“Exactly.” His avatar looks out at the water and then back at me again. “My dad watched almost every episode with me, even though him and my mom had already watched it when it first aired. He’d seen it all, and still hung out. The scar on my avatar is just me being John Locke in my own little way.”
“I’m, um, not totally sure who that is.” I suck air through my teeth. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You ever listen to Moneen? Or like, emo or punk at all?”
“Um.” I think about it for a minute. I feel like these are things we skipped, in whatever this is that’s happening between us. The quirky get-to-know-you questions, like what kind of music do you like or what you binge-watched last on Netflix. Where do you want to go to college, or favorite colors, movies, foods. All replaced with wandering virtual planets and cataloging alien life for points.
Yet whatever I’m wrestling with in my chest here—it feels real enough, even without all the details.
Maybe we can learn those later.
God, what is happening?
“No, I... I don’t think so?” I say at last. “I’m more of a pop person, I guess?”
“They have this song,” he continues. “‘Don’t Ever Tell Locke What He Can’t Do.’ It’s kind of like a personal anthem for me.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard—”
“‘You trying to say we can’t?!’” he sings, loudly, terribly off key. “‘Yes I caaaaaaan! You can’t have all that you want? YES I CAAAAAAAAN!’”
I bust out laughing and can’t stop.
“What? You don’t like my singing?” he asks. “Are you...trying to say I can’t sing?”
“No!” I manage through the laughter. “I’d never—”
“Because ‘YES I CAAAAAAAAAN!’” he belts out again, prompting another fit of giggles. Once I’ve composed myself again, he adds, “Maybe I can take you record shopping someday.”
I feel my heartbeat go mad.
“Their album The Red Tree is so good,” he gushes. “And that song—whenever I hear it, I feel like I can do anything. With or without the support from my family, from the game company... Hey, wait, I have an idea!” I hear him fussing with something in the background, and his avatar goes a little bonkers, moving around this way and that, I’m guessing from him putting down the headset and the controllers. The sound of roaring guitars and an intense drumbeat suddenly rings through my ears, in the headset, and I see his character straighten back out again.
Record shopping.
In real life.
“I figure we can listen to them together while we’re exploring. Maybe after a song, you can put on something you like, and—”
“I don’t know if I’m ready to meet up.” I feel the words rushing out of me, even as I try to hold them back. He’s sharing all this...personal stuff. He just keeps going. Way more personal than what we’ve dug into before in chats.
He wants to go record shopping. In person. I think about the used-record stores around Jersey City and Hoboken, their bins large and full of eager vinyl folders peeking over the top, primed for rummaging. I imagine our hands, making quick work of flipping through records together...and I have to shake the image away.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be,” I whisper.
The song stops.
There’s a beat, a pause in the air. I can hear the water lapping on the giant lake, the sounds of randomly generated creatures in the distance. The digital wind. I’ve ruined whatever moment this is—this was. But I’m just not ready yet.
Because none of this is real.
But maybe I want it to be.
Because some part of this, whatever is happening between us, is real.
And maybe I want it to be.
“That’s okay,” Aaron says, taking a step forward.
“Are you sure?” I ask, staring at him.
“I don’t need to see you, to see you,” he says, standing right in front of me. “I see you. I see all of you. With or without a headset.”
For a moment, I wish there wasn’t this digital space between us. An entire state. That I could reach out through the cables and data and code and grab the hands I see right there. The hands of this strange, quirky boy from a chat room and a video game. Who sings for me, even though I’d really rather he not.
But I can’t.
There’s a stinging in my eyes and the back of my throat, and it’s not just some wave of sadness. There’s this anger mixed with it, for the fear that’s been pressed into me. From the Vox Populi, the trolls, the people who harassed Rebekah and attacked my mom. I want to push past it, but it’s part of me. Like Rebekah said, I’ll carry it forever now, even though I don’t want to.
I choke back what feels like a sob, and barely eke out my suggestion. “Let’s...go exploring.”