Super Fake Love Song - David Yoon Page 0,53

and pointed to a square of paper. “This wizard here holds a clue. Literally, in their hands, as a melee weapon.”

Gunner held himself tight and thought. “Artemis cautiously inserts her Staff of Light into the mouth of the demon.”

“You named your wizard Artemis,” I noted aloud.

“Shut up,” said Gunner, and playfully shoved me way too hard onto the floor. “Sorry. I think I have a mind-body disconnect.”

He helped me back into my seat. I tented my fingers and intoned my words with a resonance I hadn’t used in years. “Artemis’s staff finds no resistance. No effect. The weapon simply is absorbed into the darkness. What shall you do now, adventurer?”

“Artemis pulls it back out?” said Gunner.

“As Artemis slowly removes the staff, she is horrified to discover that the end of her beloved melee weapon is missing. Simply erased from existence. Adventurer?”

Gunner’s whole face became an O of incredulity. “Is it a—what do you call it—Sphere of Annihilation?”

“The adventurer shows wisdom,” I said.

“But that was the only staff she had!”

“Tough titty,” I said. I held out a waiting hand. “Adventurer?”

We played.

After a while, Gunner snapped his head up at a sound, and he hid the board. He blipped over to the science project and feigned deep interest. It was alarming how quickly he got into character.

“You boys gittin’ ’er done?” said Gunner’s dad.

“Absolutely,” said Gunner.

Gunner’s dad peered down his nose at the work and snuffed. He nodded at his son.

“You’ve earned yourself a break,” he said. “We got our video analysis in five.” He left.

“I guess I’ll walk you out,” said Gunner with a twist of chagrin in his lip.

Outside, it was already night.

“I guess I’ll see you later, I guess,” said Gunner, and stood there on his front stoop like someone waiting to be kissed at the end of a first date.

I found myself saying it back:

“See you later.”

* * *

—

I unlocked my phone and facepalmed at the queue of messages.

JAMAL

Are you dead? If you are dead please confirm

MILO

Sunny Dae what is happening

And so on. I sighed and wrote back.

Everything’s fine. Gunner is not what he seems, but in a good way. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. In the meantime our cover is still intact.

JAMAL

You mean YOUR cover

MILO

We’re all in this together now. Support our friend.

JAMAL

Spent all night worried so I’m stressed sorry

I sent them three hearts in three different colors, then threw a leg over my bike.

The night air was a fragrant mix of distant ocean brine and jasmine and plumeria coming from all around me. I rode from pool to pool of orange light coming from the streetlamps above.

Zzz, zzz, zzz went the buzzing lights overhead.

I had a thing I called the Post-Encounter Energy Scan (PEES). After hanging out with someone, you took a moment to gauge how your body felt. If you felt tired and depleted by the encounter, you should probably not expose yourself to that person again. If you felt energized, you should increase your exposure to that person.

Milo and Jamal energized me.

Cirrus energized me to the stratosphere.

After hanging out with Gunner for the first time, I had to admit: I felt energized.

I also felt depleted, because the thought of him yearning in wretched lightless solitude made my soul heavy. Wanting more from his sidekick, the football team, and that dad of his. But being too afraid to ask.

I felt depleted because Gunner, I realized, was ashamed of himself.

And finally: I felt depleted because I had shame, too. My shame was bad enough that I had turned left into Gray’s room instead of right into mine that fateful night.

I looked at the houses all around me, big, bigger, and biggerer, all fronted by gardens manicured to taste, aside parked cars of varying levels of luxury. All human life seemed driven by shame—the fear of being an incorrect self. Wear the right clothes, talk the right way, like the right things, buy the right fancy toys. As if shame were an evolutionary necessary evil designed to keep the tribes of society simultaneously together and apart.

If there were no shame, would we be freer? Or just descend into chaos?

I had to get over this little shame of mine, and turn it into a light. It might take months or years. I feared it might take forever.

Nerd was an epithet of shame. People called me that because I did not wear the right clothes, talk the right way, or like the right things. Nerd was a catchall term for someone who failed to