What did this person want? Why were they watching him?
He wasn’t vindictive, not really, but when he’d started talking about algebraic puzzles to calm himself down, he’d known there was a nine out of ten chance that the person would disappear from the viewers column.
26InchRims had stayed, and the next morning Gus had an email:
Congrats! Your very first Streamlive follower!
He’d forwarded the email to his brother with an angry face emoji. Dave had responded with a thumbs-up emoji and a brief reply: I told you someone wanted to hear you talk about puzzles. I bet more people do, too!
But no, there had never been any other viewers. Just 26InchRims showing up faithfully every night. Gus didn’t acknowledge them at first, but they returned night after night, and a pattern started to play out. He’d talk without interruption, unsure his one follower was even really paying attention, and then 26InchRims is typing . . . would appear on the screen:
Oh wow, how did you complete the Rubik’s Cube so fast? Is there a trick or are you a genius?
So what is the difference between the math puzzle you did last night and this one? They look the same.
This is like a superpower. Although maybe this is more of a villain skill set.
Gus had started to enjoy the prompts and encouragement, had started to respond, to talk about things other than puzzles—like his own life, and what he would do with it. He’d started to think more about what he would say, instead of rambling, and about what 26InchRims would want to talk about. He’d started to get ideas, too, because 26InchRims’s comments had been peppered with suggestions for games and logic puzzles, including the one that had changed his life.
Have you ever been to an escape room? I get the feeling you would be great at this. www.girlswithglasses.com/escape-room-craze
Gus had followed that link down a rabbit hole, and well, now here he was.
It’d been weird, sharing his deepest thoughts with one internet stranger, weird in a way that it wouldn’t have been if he’d been talking with hundreds of people tuning in. But it had been nice knowing at least one person in the world found him interesting, and not just because they were bound by familial bonds. He hadn’t been in a good place then, and though he hadn’t started the stream with the idea that he’d make a friend, or even a difference in his life, having a stranger compliment him and tell him he was smart had made Gus feel supported. His family members told him the same thing, but their assessment of him was biased. Gus could appreciate their motivational speeches, but it was hard to believe that his grandmother, with her cap of gray curls, would actually tell him if she thought he was completely hopeless.
He’d started sending out job applications again, landing a position in New York, the only other place he was familiar with besides Oakland. He’d stopped posting on his Streamlive account before his move to Queens, sending a brief “Thanks for staying up with me” message to 26InchRims that had felt like not enough, but more would have seemed presumptuous. He’d reasoned that whomever they were, they probably followed lots of streamers and would hardly miss his presence.
He’d thought about messaging again when he’d logged in after two years to delete his account after a hacking attempt, but hadn’t. And now 26InchRims—Reggie—had reached out. Now he’d be talking to her every night again.
She’d nudged him out of his rut and onto the path of what might be his next career move. Talking her to sleep was the least he could do.
Besides, she was funny. Smart. He’d enjoyed their brief conversation in a way he rarely enjoyed talking to strangers on the phone—so much that he’d made the snap decision that calls would be better than recordings. Because that was how he was—when he was interested in something or someone, he acted without thinking. The same instincts that made him above average in solving puzzles sometimes bit him in the butt when it came to human interactions, but what could go wrong with this?
His phone rang, and he blew out a deep breath before accepting the call and holding the too-big smartphone to his ear.
“Hello, may I speak to Gustave, the puzzlist formerly known as Kakuro Kendoku?”
Gus smiled. He liked her voice. It wasn’t high-pitched, which sometimes grated at him like lots of random things people couldn’t help, and she spoke with a kind