Page 22 of Level Up
“Get in line,” Pal says, looking up from inspecting my computer desk. They glance over at Victory and wink before returning their attention to the knick-knacks on my desk. They pick up a small plastic robot with a television for a stomach. “What is this?”
“It’s a clock,” I tell them. “But it doesn’t work anymore. I just think it’s cute.”
“It is very cute,” they agree as they set it back down carefully. “All this stuff is awesome.”
They take a seat in my desk chair, spinning around once, and then stare up at the shelves on the wall above my computer, showcasing all my keyboards. They let out a long whistle. “I’ve never seen anyone with this many keyboards,” they say before looking back at me. “You are a fascinating person, Audrey.”
“I’m really not.” I laugh nervously, unsure what to think of the compliment. I might be blushing. “I’m just…odd.”
“Odd is good,” they say, spinning in the chair again. “Odd is interesting.” They stop spinning and smack their hands on the desk. “Odd isreal.”
I nod awkwardly and take a bite out of my sandwich. I didn’t even realize how hungry I was until the first buttery biscuit crumb hits my tongue, and then I’m suddenly ravenous.
“So, how late did you stay up last night?” Victory asks as she brings over a cup of tea and sets it on the scratched-up IKEA coffee table in front of me. She sets another cup on the desk, since Pal is still sitting there with their feet up on the chair and arms wrapped around their knees. It’s kind of adorable.
“Um. Not that late,” I say through a mouthful of peameal bacon.
Victory brings her own tea over to the couch and sits next to me, snuggling close since it’s only a two-and-a-half-seater, and my work-in-progress crochet blanket takes up at least three-quarters of a seat.
“Uh-huh,” she says, unconvinced. “And how late is that?”
“Like…four?” I say sheepishly, and she sighs.
“Uh oh,” Pal says with a smirk. “She’s about to mom-friend you.”
Victory laughs. “I am not.”
“That’s okay, I can be the dad-friend,” they add. “I’ll make really bad jokes.”
“How is that different than usual?” Victory says, and I snort a laugh with my mouth around half a sandwich. I nearly choke on one of the crumbs and she pats me on the back. “I’m guessing that means it was fun?”
It takes me a minute to clue in that she’s talking about the game. “Oh, yeah.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “I’m enjoying it so far.” I pause, debating whether or not to elaborate, but it’s Vic and I tell her everything. “And I, uh, sort of hung out with someone? Like over voice chat. While playing.”
Pal’s eyebrows shoot up while Victory’s furrow together. “Who?” she asks.
“Funny story…” I set my plate on the table, brushing crumbs from my lap onto the floor—I tell myself I’ll vacuum later, but later might be three weeks from now. “So, that guy we ran into at the store last night?—”
Now her eyebrows shoot up. “Scones?”
“Yeah, so… He messaged me, and then we sort of built our characters together for a few hours.”
“Is that a euphemism?” Pal asks, looking confused.
“No?” For some reason my voice sounds uncertain when I say it. “Building the character is sort of the first bit of the game,” I explain. “You choose your race, class, appearance, attributes?—”
“But…why?” Victory says. I know she’s not asking about character creation.
“I don’t know! He apologized for being a dick and then just kept talking at me while he started the game, and soon we were messaging each other and voice chatting and—Yeah.”
Pal coughs into their fist dramatically, and it distinctly sounds like the wordhorny.
“Nobody’shorny,” I insist, and they just snicker behind their hand.
“But you stayed up until four a.m. chatting withSconeslast night?” Victory asks, aghast.
“Yes—Well, he said I should call him Damien?—”
“Oh mygod.”
