Backward Compatible: A Geek Love Story Read online

“No, thanks. We need to head to the mall. Important doings.”

  “You boys.” She chuckles and starts to head off.

  “Hey, Ma,” Lanyon says and she stops. “Can I borrow some money?”

  She sighs and puts down the laundry. “You’re an adult. You really should get a job.”

  “I have a job. I totally mowed the lawn the other day.”

  “It’s December,” she says.

  “I know. But breaks are me time, you know? I work hard in college all year.” This is horseshit and everyone in the room knows it. “And I like to take time off.”

  “Fine. How much do you need?”

  “Eighty bucks.”

  “Oh, my.” She actually puts her hand to her mouth as she says it. “That’s a lot. It better not be for one of those silly video games. Big Stolen Car or whatever.”

  I stifle a laugh.

  “No, Ma. You know how we’re going to the midnight movie?” Lanyon lies. “We want to dress up again for it. And, since George chipped in for the costumes last time, I wanted to help him out.” It’s getting thick in here. But Lanyon knows his trade. The “pay back the loyal friend” guilt angle is sharper than Cloud’s hair.

  “Oh, okay. But you need to either get a job or spend less money.” She pulls her purse off a nearby bench, the existence of which seems to be solely based around the holding of purses.

  “I know, Ma. Thanks. You’re the best.”

  She hands him some folded bills. “You boys have fun now. Come for dinner soon, George.”

  “I will. Thank you,” I call after her as she disappears down the cellar stairs.

  We stroll back out toward my car.

  “You really know how to bake a bullshit pie,” I tell Lanyon.

  “I have some talents. But if we buy the game, we won’t be able to get costumes for the movie.”

  “Sure, we will. We can use the ones from last time,” I say.

  “I don’t want to be a warg again.”

  “Why not? You make a fine warg. Besides, I need something to ride on or else I’m just a rider. Warg riders are only cool if they have wargs.”

  “Fine, but we need to keep the piggyback rides to a minimum.”

  “Froody,” I say. “And it’s wargback rides. Always maintain character.”

  “To the mall!” he shouts.

  ***

  After a short jaunt in Crimson Lightning, during which it only threatens to stall thrice, we arrive at the Golden Pigeon Mall. It’s a pretty stupid name for a mall, but at least it’s easy to remember. We stroll through the mall toward the game store. It’s going to be less crowded this time, because it’s not midnight, and also it’s in the Golden Pigeon Mall. Less crowded is a perk, since there will be no perky-breasted girl to steal my game.

  “Gadzooks,” Lanyon exclaims. “There’s a deal on phone plans.”

  “There’s always a deal on phone plans. Also, gadzooks? What are you? Some kind of Old West guy panning for gold?”

  He turns to me, affecting a grisly sunbaked voice. “Don’t talk that way to John Marsden. I’m not the kind of guy you want to mess with.”

  “I’m not convinced. Guys who change point of view mid-introduction are almost all pussies.”

  “Suck a dick. I’m talking to the phone guy.”

  “You’re a goddamn poet,” I tell him.

  Katie

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Strangely, he doesn’t seem to see me. Although I’m like an inch away from his face, he’s focused on something off in the distance. I turn around and see nothing. Well, there’s a Sears, but I like to think I’m more interesting than Sears.

  “Hi,” I say. I think it’s a solid opening.

  “Huh?”

  “Hi,” I repeat.

  “Oh. Hi.”

  “So, uh, thanks for the game. It’s pretty sweet. Did you end up getting it?”

  He blinks. His eyes are brown and not really the kind people write poems about. Still, he’s not awful. “No. I mean, well, I emailed you.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I was in the middle of playing. I figured I’d reply later.”

  “Do you have my money?” he asks.

  Well, if that isn’t one hell of a pickup line, I don’t know what is. I’m shocked, simply shocked, that women aren’t trailing him, ready to have his apparently myopic babies.

  “Not on me. Do you want to walk to the ATM with me?” I suggest.

  He looks at his friend, who’s engaging Verizon Ken in conversation now and holding a printout comparing phone plans. So this is the kind of person who buys phone plans from the mall kiosks.

  “Hey, I’m going for a walk,” George tells his friend, who nods and continues asking asinine questions. I realize I should tell Anna that I’m going for a walk as well.

  “Here, hold this,” I tell George, shoving my Orange Julius at him. He looks down at it, shrugs, and then starts drinking it. Wow. This guy has no shame.

  I make my way to Victoria’s Secret. For anyone who’s never been inside a Victoria’s Secret store, they’re really pink. Interesting factoid about me: I despise all things pink. Anna’s flipping through underwear, which is actually not underwear but colorful floss, and texting with her other hand. I clear my throat, but she doesn’t turn around. She’s really focused on flipping and texting.

  “Anna,” I whisper. I don’t know why I whisper. It’s not like Victoria’s Secret is a library. Hell, most people in the store right now have likely never set foot in a library, but I whisper anyway. Maybe I’m afraid of catching girl.

  “Oh, hey,” she says. “Which ones do you like better?”

  She holds up two identical floss panties, and I put on a big show of analyzing each. I peer closely and inspect them both, nodding and murmuring under my breath. She continues texting with her thumb. The girl could be one hell of a gamer with that kind of dexterity.

  “Left,” I say. I don’t really have a preference and I kind of wonder if this is some kind of test. Maybe they’re the same pair.

  “Huh. Really? You don’t think they’re too dark?” she asks.

  “No, definitely left.” They’re the exact same color as the others.

  She looks at them both again, then takes the left pair and hangs it up on the rack, choosing the ones I didn’t pick. She’s an awesome friend. Really good for the self-esteem.

  “What were you saying?”

  “Well, I wasn’t,” I say, “but I’m walking over to the ATM. I’ll meet you in, like, ten minutes?”

  “Oh, yeah. Listen, Chad’s gonna meet us here in, like, an hour when he gets out of work.”

  “Great. Looking forward to it.”

  “Cool.”

  She moves on to bras and I go back outside, where George is finishing off my Orange Julius. I’d be mad, except I’m not in Victoria’s Secret anymore, I didn’t really like the drink anyway, and he gives me a goofy grin that’s kind of the cutest thing I’ve seen lately. Although lately all I’ve seen are guys dressed in battle gear, Anna texting, a shadowy rock, and a Verizon rep. But beggars can’t be choosers and all that.

  He throws the cup away as we pass a trashcan and we walk to the ATM. It takes a few minutes for the money to come out, but I hand it to him as soon as it does. He shoves it into his pocket and then does a little hop back and forth from one foot to the other. I don’t know what kind of signal that is. My body language literacy is fairly low, but I don’t really think they cover that one.

  “So,” he says.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s a good game?”

  “Pretty awesome.”

  “Nice.”

  “Uh huh,” I say.

  Someone somewhere is writing down our conversation to go down in the annals of history as the epitome of true romance. I mean, this is the kind of dialogue parents worry about when they can’t sleep, thinking about the dangers of premarital sex. This is the passionate sort of banter that-

  “Chinese?” he asks.

  Well, great. I wa
s so busy being self-deprecating that I missed an actual question. I run through all the possibilities of what he could have asked. “Do you speak Chinese?” “Is your favorite kind of checkers Chinese?” “Would you say that Hong Kong is technically Chinese?” I go with a safe answer.

  “Sure.”

  George

  “Sweet.”

  I turn and walk back toward the phone kiosk to tell Lanyon the new plan, but then I figure, screw Lanyon. That’ll teach him to laugh at me for not getting emailed back. I turn back around. Katie blinks at me.

  “Are you lost?” she asks.

  “No map on the HUD. But it’s this way.”

  I head toward what I believe is the only Chinese food place at the Golden Pigeon mall. It’s called the Golden Dragon.

  “Why the hell does this place like golden so much?” I ask. The sticky echo of that Orange Julius ass is still stuck in my throat.

  “I guess they think it makes them look fancy.”

  “Fancy as chainmail armor on a peasant.” I give her a little shove, which is meant to be playful, but it’s maybe a bit too shoveish. “Am I right?” She stares at me. “Can you play a peasant in FDX?”

  “Why would you want to play a peasant?”

  “Not sure. I bet it would be difficult. I like a challenge.”

  “Right. Like the druid?” she asks.

  What the hell? “How do you know I play a druid? You aren’t pulling some Jean Grey shit on me, are you?”

  “No, I saw your costume at the midnight release.”

  She looks into the restaurant. A master of physical cues, I open the door for her. A real gallant bastard, I am. She nods a thanks and heads in.

  “So what level are you?” I ask her once we’re inside.

  “Twenty-three.”

  “Jesus’ ejaculate! How did you get so high so fast?”

  “I’m not a big sleeper. I’ve been grinding a lot.”

  “I guess so. Hey, can I friend you on Live?” This is a big step in our relationship. Let’s see Lanyon call me a coward now. Oh, damn. I hope that goofy bastard doesn’t get mugged. Bah, I remind myself. There are no muggers at the old Golden Pigeon.

  “Sure. My tag is Deathbringer Princess,” she says.

  “Nice.” I nod slow and steady like a 2-D hall trap. “Mine is Heimdall’sMightyRod. All one word. So you know. You’ll know it’s me.”

  “Heimdall’s Mighty Rod. Isn’t that a bit homoerotic?” she asks.

  “I’m comfortable in my sexuality. Besides, Heimdall is sexy.”

  “Table for two?” asks the hostess, who is unsurprisingly Chinese. Do they import them just for these jobs? I wonder.

  “No. Table for nine. I have four invisible friends and three more in my pants,” I reply.

  The hostess stares at me. It’s a dick move, but why can’t they just assume once in a while? She begins to look over our shoulders. Perhaps for the invisible friends.

  “Oh no, I forgot. It isn’t Monday. Yes, just two,” I confirm.

  She waves at us to follow her.

  “So you’re mean to the hostess? Not a good way to impress your date,” Katie says.

  I let her walk in front of me. She has a nice body. I don’t want to be one of those guys, but I have to admit, I am a fan of sexy bodies.

  “Sorry. I don’t do well on dates. I wasn’t even sure this was one until you said so.”

  “What did you think it was?” she asks.

  “Well, we’re in the mall. And I was hungry so, you know,” I wave my arms about to indicate the place, “Chinese.”

  “Interesting. Well, it’s a date. So you have to pay for me.” She sits down on one side of a long red booth that we could have actually fit nine in.

  “I suppose. I hope I have enough cash.”

  “I just gave you eighty bucks.”

  “Yes, but as you know, I need that for the game. I can’t be dropping gil on food, you know,” I explain.

  “I don’t have any money,” she says. Then, she blows her hair out of her face. Damn it. I guess I’m going to pay.

  “I’ll pay. Lanyon has money to make up the difference anyway.”

  “What the hell is a Lanyon?” she asks.

  “Sidekick.”

  “The phone guy?”

  “That’s him.”

  “He’s probably wasting his money on some stupid phone plan.”

  “Shitsicles, you’re right.” I rub my head. “I can’t take that guy anywhere.”

  “So, what kinds of games do you like?” she asks.

  “Great question. I see you are good at dates. I shall be the Sheva to your Chris.”

  “Survival horror then?”

  “That’s top of my list. I like all kinds. FPS, RPG, RTS, MMO, and other acronyms as well,” I say.

  “STFU. Me, too.”

  She smiles. I smile. This thing’s heating up faster than Johnny Storm. Then, the waitress arrives. “What you want?” she asks.

  It’s risky, but it’s time to try and make my move. “I would like to eat- a tasty delicious meal- I want number ten.”

  “Number ten good,” spouts the waitress, who, despite the empty restaurant, seems to be in a great hurry. “You?” she asks Katie.

  “Can I get teriyaki, chicken fingers, and spare ribs?”

  “Yes. Beef teriyaki, golden finger, spare ribs. I bring water.” She scurries off in a flash.

  “Did you just order in a haiku?” Katie asks me.

  “I did. Good ear. Are you impressed?”

  “Haikus suck ass.”

  Strike one, I think.

  Katie

  Haikus are strike three. One was being rude to the hostess. Two was asking me on a date that’s clearly a date and then proceeding to call it a non-date. Three, haikus. Also, haikus are Japanese. I think. I don’t know how many strikes one gets. I don’t play sports. I have bad knees. I’m 21 and I have bad knees. Hmmm. Maybe I should reconsider the strikes. Perhaps we’ll call it two and a half strikes. Can you have a half strike? I feel like I’m being bratty, but I’m overtired, and I don’t do well with guys. Or people. But especially male people.

  “My name’s Katie,” I tell him, since he hasn’t asked. I figure he should know. I mean, if he’s buying me dinner.

  “I know. You told me last night,” he says.

  “Oh.” Shit. I suddenly realize I told Anna ten minutes. “Hold on,” I say, as if there was some brilliant retort just waiting to burst free from his lips. Which are chapped. Although I would still let him kiss me. Anna’s probably right. Maybe I do need some action.

  I text her that I’m having dinner. She responds by asking if I have a ride home, because Chad wants to go bowling. Do people bowl anymore? Maybe that’s, like, code for sex. Although usually Anna just says sex.

  “Do you have a car?” I ask George.

  He nods excitedly, which I guess is normal. Guys like their cars. I wonder if he’s done all that pimp my ride stuff.

  “Can you give me a ride home?”

  “As long as you don’t live in China,” he says and laughs. It’s a sputtering sound and I think he might have a heart attack, but he drinks his glass of water, which must have appeared magically while I was texting, and then drinks mine. This guy loves drinking things that don’t belong to him.

  “Why would I live in China?” I ask.

  “You know, we’re having Chinese.”

  “I live on Parker Street.”

  “Really? I live on Maple,” he says.

  Cute. We’re neighbors. “How have we never met?” I wonder aloud.

  “I go to school at UMass, so I’m not home much.”

  “Cool. I go to Amherst. But still, you’re not like forty, right? How did we not meet in high school?”

  “I went to St. Mary’s,” he says. “I don’t know anyone.”

  “You’re Catholic?”

  “No. My parents are assholes.”

  The food comes before I can reply. I look at his meal, which is some kind of stra
nge seafood dish. He stares at it. Then he takes his chopsticks and pokes it. The chunks of whatever aquatic creature has been fried in batter sink to the edges of the rice underneath. He pushes his glasses up and looks at me, then at my spare ribs.

  “Go ahead,” I sigh.

  He eats half my meal, but it’s okay. Chinese food gets old fast and, when you’re starting to see colors at the edges of your vision from lack of sleep, your appetite tends to be iffy anyway.

  “So, are you planning on getting FDX after we leave? Like before you bring me home?” I ask him.

  He nods and starts speaking, although he hasn’t finished eating yet and he nearly chokes to death. Seriously. The two of us belong on a valentine. Once he clears his throat, he continues, “Yeah. I can’t believe you’re at twenty-three already. I will never catch up.”

  “I can start over. We can grind together. I always play black mage. I could try druid.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “That’s crazy talk.”

  “You can. Why can’t I?”

  “To play druid, you must be a master of all. You must be stealthy, while also being aggressive. Balanced, but also chaotic. Risky, but a planner. You must-” He starts choking again.

  “I think I got it,” I say. “Although, if I play druid and we play together, that means you have to try something different. Are you up for the challenge?”

  “I can handle any challenge,” he wheezes and drinks both of our glasses of water again.

  “Except teriyaki,” I tease.

  Once he finishes choking to death, he smiles at me. “Fine. If you want to try druid, I can tackle a different class,” he says.

  “Yeah? So, what are you thinking? Thief? Rogue? Assassin?”

  “Maybe I’ll just play soldier.”

  I hand him the rest of the teriyaki.

  George

  Panic. Utter panic. I would never play soldier. And what was with that jackass China joke? Why am I being such a raging douche? Aha. I’ve figured it out. I must like this girl. Fuck. What do I do about that?

  “To the game store!” I shout after we finish eating, and I shove my finger into the air. It smashes into the ornamental lamp over our table and I shriek like a little girl. “Zarking Zark balls. Is this thing made of mythril?”