Page 48 of You Had Me at Hello World
“I really liked it as a kid. But then in sixth grade, after my dad’s trial, my classmates and I played it. And every single time, they’d point the finger at me first, even though I was never the killer. So I’d immediately get voted out, and then I’d sit out the rest of the game.” He sighs. “It took me three rounds to realize they were doing it on purpose.”
“That’s mean. I’m sorry.” I want to hug him but we’re supposed to be keeping things platonic, so I settle for patting his elbow.
“Yeah, I transferred schools and changed my last name after that.” He shrugs. “But I always wished I could play the game again. So I made a mobile version where nobody’s real-world identity mattered.”
Khoi probably spent hundreds of hours buildingImposter Syndromewhile also attending high school. He only could’ve done that if he was actually obsessed with the game. Perhaps it filled a yawning emptiness he didn’t even know he held.
Any winning idea will have to bloom from something deeply rooted within us. Someplace where we hide our pain, somewhere that is yearning to be seen.
My phone flickers with a new email from Janelle. The car is five minutes away.
I stand. “I have to go. I’ll be back in a few hours. You should do lunch without me.”
“Wait, where are you going?”
I don’t want to lie but I don’t want to tell him about Edvin Nilsen either, at least not until after the meeting. I don’t want him to come along. “Uh. Just talking to someone.”
“Okaaay…”
I know he’s waiting for more, but it’s not like I owe him my whereabouts at all times. We aren’t even dating. We’re just teammates. So I pick up my backpack, give him an awkward head bob, and walk outside.
The car is already idling next to the curb. When I slide in, the seats are buttery leather. There’s a blast of air-conditioning.
“Hi,” I say to the driver, and then I notice there is no driver. It’s a self-driving car. Mesmerized, I watch us drift away from the curb and zoom down the road. The wheel turns as if it’s being operated by a ghost.
I’ve heard of these before, but I’ve never been in one. I’ve never even known somebody who’s been in one. Honestly, I half figured they were mythical creatures, like unicorns or tech bros who shower regularly.
It’s eerily quiet in here. Since I don’t drive, I’ve never been in a car alone. Oof. Is this truly the future of America? Everyone cloistered in their own separate metal boxes, speeding along the freeway, at the mercy of a faceless algorithm?
To escape the silence, I decide to call Lola to wish her ahappy birthday. It’s already eight thirty in Oregon.
She picks up my FaceTime on the first ring. “Char!”
She’s still in bed and her sleeping mask is propped up on her forehead. I swear, her face is an instant serotonin boost. I forgot how much I missed Lola. We used to spend, like, every second together. These last few weeks might be the longest stretch we’ve gone without seeing one another since we first met.
“Happy birthdaaaay! You’re an adult now! Did you decide on a tat?” For months she’s been talking about how she’s going to get inked to celebrate her eighteenth.
She pushes her lower lip out, contemplating. “Do you think a butterfly on my shoulder is too basic bitch?”
“It is a tad basic,” I admit. “But basic doesn’t equal bad.”
“My mother’s name, Mariposa, isbutterflyin Spanish, so it does seem meaningful. But also I like the aesthetic?”
We spend a few more minutes spitballing about tattoos. I tease her about getting a tramp stamp of the nameRachel, since apparently she likes Rachels so much.
But then Lola’s expression shifts. “Char, I gotta tell you that I’m shipping out next week for training. It won’t be easy to contact me.”
July snuck up on us. I won’t even be in town to send her off. Of course I always knew that. It just suddenly feels a lot more real. I blink rapidly. “Oh. How are you feeling?”
“Darlin’, to tell you the truth…” She heaves a sigh. “I’m terrified? I can’t even say why. It’s not like they’re tossing me into a combat zone. It’s training.”
I wish I could say something to comfort her, but nothing comes to mind. Maybe I could talk about how scary it was to leave Chinook Shore to come here, to Massachusetts, but it doesn’t seem like the same thing at all. It’s not like I have to do push-ups in the rain while someone screams about how much of a loser I am. Although some of the guys here have huge drill sergeant energy. Their talent for making their own anger management issues into everyone else’s problem is truly wasted on the software industry.
She continues, “Mari’s been crying when she thinks I’m not looking. I’m worried about what’s going to happen to her once I’m gone.”
With a stab of guilt, I realize I haven’t thought much about how Mom is faring back home. Before, I was too upset with her, and then things got so busy at camp. It was easier to stress about everything happening here.
What’s her life like right now? She’s at the Lucky Panda. Summer is high season for tourism, so probably her tips are great. Nobody’s handing out twenties faster than a bridal party that’s two mimosas deep. But is Michael treating her fine? Even if he’s being a monkey’s ass, what can she do about it? It’s not like she’s swimming in friends. Her English isn’t the best, so she struggles to build relationships. Back in Portland she knew other Chinese international students at her university, but in Chinook Shore we’re considered “exotic.”
