Page 2 of Dungeons and Drama

“Here we are!” Dad says loudly, making me jump.

I peek over his shoulder. The store is dim and quiet, though it’s bigger than I thought it would be. It kind of looks like a hole-in-the-wall from the outside, but the interior is actually spacious…or it would be if it wasn’t absolutely crammed with stuff. There’s a long checkout counter to the left that’s up on a platform, maybe so the employees can see the entire floor. The rest of the space is filled with wooden shelving units. They don’t look professional, so maybe Dad built them himself. I vaguely recognize some of the games, like Warhammer, from Dad’s apartment. There are tons of D&D manuals and figurines, boxes of Pokémon and Magic cards, and displays of brushes and paints in every color for the tabletop game models Dad loves to collect.

I try to conjure a smile on my face, but I’m struggling. For years, Dad’s been asking me to come to this store. He’s obsessed with gaming. Board games, role-playing games, video games, it doesn’t matter. I don’t mind a round of Monopolyduring the holidays, but that’s about as far as my interest goes. Over the years, it’s led to lots of frustration and disappointment for both him and me.

Dad walks me through the store, pointing to all the products and telling me a bit about each. I’m dizzy from it. How am I supposed to learn all this stuff? What if someone comes in asking me for a board game? He doesn’t exactly sell Candy Land here.

“Hey, Joel? Which of these would you recommend for a twelve-year-old?” calls a skinny man in his late twenties from across the store. “Forbidden Island or Ticket to Ride?” He holds up two board games I’ve never seen before and gestures for my dad to join him and a middle-aged woman who stands next to him. A little boy, probably no older than five, is with her. The woman looks as bewildered by the shelves as I do.

“Just a sec, Riley,” Dad says, and walks over. I shove my hands in my pockets and follow behind. “Well, Forbidden Island is great if you like cooperative play, but if you’re looking for something more competitive, I’d recommend the other.” The woman nods, but I recognize that expression. It’s the same one I make when Dad spouts off facts about 40K armies.

“Um, what do you mean bycooperative?” she asks.

Dad and the younger man share the slightest of looks before Dad launches into an explanation. In her concentration, she’s let go of her son’s hand and he wanders away. I take a few steps in his direction. There’s merchandise precariously stacked on the shelves, and a little kid could do a lot ofdamage very quickly. I’m not interested in reshelving on my first day here.

“Pikachu!” he cries, and grabs a box of cards sitting on the checkout counter.

I step up to him, not sure what I’m supposed to do but knowing that I need to do something. He stares at me. “You’re bright.”

I look down at myself. Today’s OOTD isn’t even one of my bolder styles—I was mostly going for comfort after a rough few days. I’m wearing orange jeans with a cobalt-blue ruffled shirt, chunky jewelry, and my favorite purple checkerboard Vans. I know my style isn’t like most people’s, but I decided long ago that I want to wear clothes others will notice. No black, beige, tan, or navy for me. I don’t like blending in.

“Well, thank you.” I point at the cards. “Do you play Pokémon?”

“No, but I watch the cartoon.”

I smile and nod. I did too when I was younger. You don’t grow up as the daughter of a serious gamer without being introduced to a lot of IPs.

“My favorite was always Jigglypuff.”

He squints at me. “What’s Jigglypuff?”

I feign shock. “Only the cutest Pokémon ever! It’s pink and round and loves to sing, but whenever it does, it puts people to sleep. And then it gets grumpy and puffs up its cheeks like this.” I puff out my cheeks like I’m a squirrel with too many nuts in my mouth. Then I hit my cheeks with my hands so all the air blows out. I smile to myself, rememberinghow I would do that with Dad when I was little. Those were better times between us.

The little boy giggles and pulls my attention back. “You’re making that up.”

I’m really not, but there’s no time to argue because he’s already wandering off again. I remember a candy bowl I saw behind the counter.

“Do you want a lollipop?”

His eyes shine. “Um, yeah!”

“Excuse me, is it okay if he gets a sucker?” I call to his mom.

She nods thankfully. “That would be great.”

I lead him over to the checkout counter to grab the candy bowl but jump when someone else squeezes behind me. It’s a white kid from my high school—Nathan Wheeler. He’s got on a black T-shirt and jeans, his dark hair is flipping in different directions like he’s run his fingers through it too many times, and his wide black glasses are falling down his nose. We’ve been in school together since junior high, but I barely see him around. I don’t think he’s involved in much—definitely not in the music or theater programs where I spend all my time.

He quickly grabs a sealed pack of cards from behind the counter and slides them into his back pocket. He nods when he sees I’m staring, then grabs a lollipop from the bowl.

“Root beer’s my favorite.” Then he takes off toward the back of the store.

I’m dumbfounded. Did he actually come behind the register without asking? And take something? I look at Dad, hoping he saw that, too, but he’s still with the customer. Ican’t believe someone stole from him in my first five minutes of being here.

“Just a second,” I say to the boy, and walk toward Dad.

“What about my lollipop?”

“What?” I turn back to the boy, who is pointing at the counter. “Oh, um, sure.” I grab the bowl and lower it to him, keeping my eyes on Dad while also making sure Nathan hasn’t snuck out of the store yet.

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