The Leveller - Julia Durango Page 0,1

and bass-heavy, interspersed with the high-pitched giggles of programmed Meeple.

As I reach the clubhouse door I put my heels back on and tug the hem of my dress, which has inched its way up to my hips. “Time for the grab and go, Nixy,” I tell myself, plastering a vacuous smile on my face. I step inside and immediately let out a huge bark of a laugh, nearly blowing my cover.

The usual bikini-clad babes are all over the place, in and out of the twelve-person hot tub in the middle of the room. But it’s not the Meeple making me laugh—Coop always populates his MEEP worlds with big-bosomed, underdressed women—it’s Coop himself who’s cracking me up. The boy’s really outdone himself this time. Not only has he given himself the body of Arnold Schwarzenegger, but he’s squeezed it all into a bright yellow Speedo. Hell, it looks like he’s attached a bag of lemons to his pelvis.

Oh, this is going to be good.

I swing my bouncy blond hair and strut my bodacious body over to him. His eyes light up when he sees me and I try not to smirk. For a second I almost feel sorry for the heap of humiliation I’m about to serve him . . . but then I remember what a tremendous jerk he is at school and the flash of guilt dissipates immediately.

“Hey there,” I say stupidly, smiling. Coop smiles back and we dazzle each other with our perfect mouthfuls of bleached teeth. (In real life, Coop has an overbite and my bottom teeth are slightly crooked, due to not wearing my retainer on a regular basis.)

“New to the party, babe?” he asks, putting an arm over my shoulder.

I nod enthusiastically and bat my long lashes. “I can’t believe I’m here with the MVP!” I squeal. “I’m the luckiest girl ever! You’re so amazing!”

He grins smugly and looks down my dress. “Just doing my job, babe, keeping the fans happy.”

I lick my lips at him seductively. “And now it’s my turn to make you happy,” I purr, pulling him closer.

“Oh yeah?” says Coop, nearly drooling into my cleavage.

“Oh yeah,” I whisper. “But first,” I add, raising my voice and enunciating clearly into the MEEPosphere, “I want to see the real you.”

Coop’s face freezes. He knows that MEEP cheat all too well. It’s one of my favorites.

“Damn it, Bauer,” he growls, pulling away from me as his enhancements disappear.

Now he’s just an awkward, normal-size teenage boy: five inches shorter, five inches less around the pecs, and a saggy yellow swimsuit.

I consider getting rid of my own ridiculous enhancements now, but I admit, I enjoy towering over him in my heels. I glance at his Speedo and titter behind a manicured hand.

Coop’s face turns red. “You stinking, money-grubbing traitor!” he shouts at me, stalking toward the Landing. He doesn’t even try to stall; he knows his game is up. He tried fighting me the first few times, but without going into details . . . let’s just say it always ended badly for him.

“A job’s a job, Coop, and levelling pays way better than your burger-flipping gig,” I say, “which you’re late for, by the way. Better hustle home and get your hairnet on before Mama Coop goes full-psycho on you.”

Coop swears under his breath. “One day I’m going full-psycho on you, you dirty MEEP rat.”

I shrug and follow him back to the Landing. It certainly isn’t the first time I’ve been sworn at by a disgruntled gamer. Since I started levelling six months ago, I’ve been called every name in the book. But hey, I’m good at it, and it beats bagging groceries or washing cars. I charge a flat rate: one hundred bucks a pop. Not bad for an hour or less of work. My business motto is “Nixy Bauer, Home in an Hour.” If I don’t deliver the goods to parents—meaning, drag their wayward sons and daughters back from the MEEP within the hour—they don’t have to pay me. That’s why they hire me. I’m fast and I never fail to deliver.

I have my tricks, of course. Both my parents work for the MEEP, or MeaParadisus Inc., as it’s officially known, so I’ve grown up with the game, or at least the three years it was in development before its world release last year. My dad is a concept artist and my mom writes Meeple script. If you think that sounds glamorous, think again. They’re basically lowly peons and poorly paid at that,