Page 34 of Playing for Keeps in Starr's Fall
“Okay, then.” Zach paused, trying to figure out what to say next. “I feel like this has something to do with what you saw on the computer,” he said at last. “Am I right?” Ben shrugged. “Because whatever is out there online, it doesn’t need to affect you. Cyberspace isn’t a great place to occupy your head, you know?”
Ben glanced up at that, his mouth twisting. “Dude, nobody calls it cyberspace anymore.”
“My bad. I’m getting old. Seriously, though.” Zach stooped so he could look Ben in the eye. “Tell me honestly,” he said quietly. “What’s up?”
Ben glanced at him before quickly looking down again as he picked the ragged cuff of his sweatshirt. “Just stupid stuff,” he finally muttered.
“Well, I figured that out already,” Zach replied as he straightened. “Because if it’s online, ithasto be stupid. But stupid stuff can still bother you.” He thought of all the careless little jokes and remarks that just about everyone in Starr’s Fall made about him. They’d all been pretty stupid, but they’d still hurt. “Trust me,” he told Ben, “I know how that goes.”
“You do?” Ben glanced up again, brushing his bangs from his eyes. “Like, how?”
Zach shrugged. “People in a small town, or any small community, can think they know who you are, what kind of person you are, and then they keep trying to fit you in that box no matter how much you want to break out of it, and that’s if you were even in it in the first place, the way they thought you were.” Which all sounded pretty vague. “Basically,” he told Ben, “people in Starr’s Fall can’t always get on board with people being different. So, to quote a famous song, haters gonna hate. You can’t let it worry you.” He paused, before adding, because he felt Ben needed to hear it, “But it can still hurt.”
“Yeah.” Ben was entirely focused on a loose thread on the cuff of his sweatshirt, his head lowered as he tugged on it. “These kids in my old high school,” he said in a low voice. “They’re still harshing on me and I don’t even go there anymore. How stupid is that?”
“Very stupid,” Zach replied swiftly. “And incredibly immature. And you know what else? Boring. I mean, are they such saddos that they can’t think of anything better to do? Haven’t they moved on in life? Jeez.” He shook his head.
“Yeah.” Ben didn’t sound convinced, and Zach didn’t blame him. He already hated these bullies, and he didn’t even know what they’d done. “It’s just stupid stuff,” Ben said after a moment, trying for an offhand tone and not quite pulling it off. “On this online group chat for my grade. I’m still on the chat even though I left after Christmas.”
“Maybe you should get off the chat,” Zach suggested. “Doesn’t sound like it’s adding anything great to your life.”
“No…” Ben looked up, a bleakness in his eyes that tore at Zach’s heart. “I just wanted to know if they were saying anything about me because sometimes it’s worse not knowing, you know? Like what you imagine. And for a long time they weren’t saying anything about me, and then someone went and made a stupidmeme.”
“A meme about you?” Zach asked quietly.
Ben nodded miserably. “It’s not even funny. It’s just my class photo with a photoshopped gaming controller in my hand and this line underneath about the definition of a geek. Like, that’s sobasic.”
Zach almost smiled at that. Ben sounded so scathing. “Well, let’s be real,” he said. “These people sound pretty basic to me.”
Zach was rewarded with a very small smile. “Yeah,” Ben said, with feeling. “They totally are.”
“You could just as easily do a meme oftheirphoto, with the word basic underneath,” he joked. “Not that I’m advising that, of course. My motto is ignore, ignore, ignore. But… it’s good to remember what people are like, and how unimportant their opinions can be.”
“Yeah,” Ben said after a moment. He didn’t sound entirely convinced, but maybe a little more than before. A silence settled on them, and Zach let it rest for a few moments and then he straightened. “Look, why don’t you help me with the bookshelves? I really want to get them finished off before your mom comes home. Let’s work on them this morning and then go get a burger at The Starr Light. Then, if you want, you can finish your schoolwork this afternoon.”
The corner of Ben’s mouth quirked up. “If I want? Is that, like, negotiable?”
“Well.” Zach smiled easily. “It can be.”
12
Maggie had had the most amazing day. Admittedly, she’d been hyperventilating with nerves when she’d walked into Cup of Joe, and that had only gotten worse when she’d seen the other attendees—they were all about two decades younger than her, and impossibly hip and cool. She’d felt middle-aged and boring before she’d even walked in the door.
And yet… once the course had started, and she’d learned how to make espresso and foam milk and do latte art, she’d started to both relax and energize. It had been so long since she’d stretched her brain in any significant way, and the creative element reminded her that she used to love art, about a million years ago.
Her first job out of college had been an elementary school art teacher, part-time and poorly paid, but she’d loved it. She’d had to stop when school budget cuts had eliminated the position, and she’d ended up drifting into soulless marketing work for a big corporation, which was how she’d met Matt. But she’d always looked back fondly on those two years getting messy with paint and glue. She was glad to re-spark that part of herself, and so unexpectedly.
By seven o’clock that evening, when she was pulling into Starr’s Fall, she was still buzzing from the day, although the creep of anxiety about her son had taken the edge off her excitement, if only slightly. She hadn’t left him for this long—fourteen hours—since before Matt’s death. She’d had a brief text from Zach telling her all was well, and typically nothing from Ben, but she felt that flicker of fear all the same. She wondered if it would ever go away. Some things, she supposed, scarred you for life, and that’s just how it was. You had to learn to live with the scars, not try to erase them.
As she stepped out of the car, the cold air felt like a slap in the face. It was almost March, but the only sign of spring was a few chilled-looking crocuses next to the sidewalk, their bright heads huddled together as if that would keep them warm.
The café was dark, but Maggie could see lights on upstairs, and her heart lightened. She realized just how much she was looking forward to seeing Ben—and Zach. As she came up the stairs to the apartment above, she heard voices—Ben and Zach, talking animatedly about something, using a lot of slang she didn’t understand.
“Bruh,” her son said, with the emphasis of complete conviction. “That one issucha bullet sponge. But I was totally cheesing and it became, like,themost epic boss rush.”
“Awesome,” came Zach’s reply, a lazy murmur that made Maggie want to shiver. He had a very nice voice.
“Hey, I’m home,” she sang out as she opened the door, sounding like something out of an episode ofLeave it to Beaver. “How was your day, guys?”
