Page 2 of Level Up
“Spooky.”
“Eight hundred and seventy-twopeople tagged me in comments on his archives and on his streams in the past few days,” I add, and Victory nods even though she knows that I tend to make up numbers out of thin air—which I did. “Trying to goad him into agreeing that I’m just some wannabe-gamer who should stay in her lane and keep playingkiddie games.”
“I’m pretty sure children shouldn’t playLaundromate?—”
“And he saidnothing.” I slam both of my palms on the table, nearly causing Victory’s latte to spill.
“Which is…bad?”
“Exactly!”
“Audrey,” she says slowly, folding her hands together in front of her lips. “You know I love you, but?—”
“Ugh, I hatelove-buts?—”
“—you realize you are being ridiculous, right?” She raises her eyebrows at me and I nod sheepishly. “You’re annoyed that this guy you like justMad Men’ed you.”
“First of all, I don’tlikehim,” I sputter, though I can feel my face heating up like it’s trying to contradict me, “and also I have no idea what that means.”
“‘I don’t think about you at all,’” Victory says, sounding nothing like Jon Hamm.
“Oh, come on. I don’t care about that.”
“Look, obviously I know you don’t, y’know,like himlike him,” she adds, and I stare at my empty glass as I will this topic of conversation to die. “I know that’s not your thing. But you like his streams and respect his opinion on this stuff, so it hurts when he doesn’t seem to have one about you.”
With a laborious sigh, I slouch back in my seat, reclininglike aSkyrimjarl in this too-soft armchair that Green Bean keeps by the window. “You make me sound pathetic.”
“It’s not pathetic to want people to think well of you.” She takes a sip of her (disgustingly hot) coffee and I roll my eyes.
It’s easy for her to say such a thing because everyone likes her. She’s friendly and smart and talented, and everything she wears looks like candy. She is the epitome of awesome—the exact opposite of me.
I feel like a slob, sitting here with her in my too-warm, oversized grandpa cardigan—in a shade of brown that looks like it wishes it were mustard yellow but didn’t quite make the cut—and high-waisted plaid pants that dig into my waist because they are technically a size too small now but I hate going shopping. Maybe I do look like candy—a Werther’s Original.
“Assuming thishating Sconesthing isn’t going to take all day…” Victory says, setting her cup down gingerly, having one of those occasional moments where she actually seems awkward and relatable instead of her usual: unflappably confident. (I love her so much.) “Do you think we could stop at Reggie’s Records after we’re done here?”
My grin unfurls at her like a caffeine-addled Cheshire Cat. “Looking for something in particular?”
She shrugs, a limp attempt at trying to act casual.Sweet child. I can read her all too well. “I just want to check out what’s new in the second-hand bin.”
“You sure you don’t want to check out a certain blue-haired employee?” I waggle my eyebrows at her despite lacking the coordination to do so effectively.
“Uh, no, I hope Palisn’tthere, actually,” she says, convincing exactly zero people as she does. “They’re always really rude to me and I don’t need that energy in my life.”
“I think they tease you because they like you, Vic.”
Her face scrunches up, but she can’t fully hide the flicker of hope there. “They make fun of my clothes all the time.”
“Maybe they just want to see you out of them,” I say, and her mouth drops open.
“Look who’s suddenly making sex jokes,” she says with a laugh. She reaches over and squeezes one of my hands. “My sweet little ace baby.”
“I’m not—a baby.” I have to hold back my immediate reaction. Because I don’t know how to have that conversation.
I came out to my friends as asexual after I broke up with my first—and only—boyfriend, Shawn, over five years ago, when we were still in university, because it was the best word I had at the time. But lately I feel like I don’t even know if it’s right. I thought I knew what the label meant, what it said about me, but much like the Cozy Gamer label—and my plaid pants—it’s starting to chafe, like it doesn’t quite fit anymore, and I don’t know what to do about that.
And yeah, okay, maybe some of that has to do with Scones’s stupid, weird mouth, and how his streams always make me laugh, and how he playsThe Stones of Ayor 3more thoughtfully than anyone I’ve ever seen. But whatever confusing, misguided, pathetic thoughts I’ve been having about this literal stranger over the last couple of years are gone now, replaced with unadulterated fury aimed in his specific direction.
I hate Scones. And that’s that.
