Playing Tyler (6 page)

“No, Ani. That won't be necessary. I have complete trust in the integrity of the system. I know you're anxious about potential errors since this is your first project on such a large scale, but don't worry. Nerves are completely natural, and there are going to be errors and things that need updating in every system. Don't let this keep you up at night.” He pauses. “Besides, you know the rules, you're not going to have contact with any of the beta testers after you set up the system.”

No. I want to see him again. “But if there is an error and we don't catch it–”

“There, you see? You're worrying. If there's a problem, we'll deal with it. If you were older I'd tell you to have a beer and try and relax. Since you're not, I think maybe a good walk around campus might do the trick.” He sighs. “Besides, Mr MacCandless is our most qualified beta tester, he has at least two years of actual piloting experience. I've taught him most of what he knows myself. If anyone can work around initial bugs in the system, it's him. That kid was born to fly, he'll figure it out.” The pride in his voice is unmistakable, and a sliver of jealousy slides in beneath my ribs.

“But–”

“You don't find the rules guiding this project unfair, do you?” His voice is cold: a mortuary door slamming shut. Fear wedges in my throat. Oh God, what Mr Anderson could do to me if I mess this up. He knows what I did back in California, and I don't want to go to jail.

“No, not at all.” Hating the way the words feel in my mouth as I speak, I think of the way Tyler looked at me, like I was strong, like I was
there
. My stomach clenches.

“The next system is set for delivery Thursday at 1600 hours, right?” His voice lifts again, but the threat underlying his previous statement stains my consciousness. I can't ever relax around Mr Anderson, I can't ever forget what he can do.

“Yeah, I just need a few hours to work out the bugs and it will be ready. I can probably get into the office tomorrow, I don't have class on Wednesday afternoons.”

“Perfect. See you then.” The line goes dead.

I stare at the phone in my hand, studying it for a minute, and then shove it back into my pocket. Why is he insisting on acting as a go-between?

 

Wednesday, September 26

Ani

Who has time to join a club? Tables brimming with fliers and free water bottles litter the quad as the students at large try to sell their clubs to the freshmen.

“Hi there!” The girl looking at me is tall and classically beautiful, you know, long hair and lots of makeup and perfectly plucked brows. She shoves a leaflet into my hand and my feet crunch through a pile of leaves as I take a step back. She says, “I'm Stacy and you should meet up with me and the girls on Thursday nights. We go into an inner-city school here in New Haven to help tutor kids in need three afternoons a week. It's a really great cause and we cover any subject you like, and–”

“Sorry.” I look at my feet. That does sound like a great thing to do but: “I have to work.”

Her nose twitches up just a little as her eyes scroll down to check out my clothes. My cheeks burn. Yeah, that's right, I have to work. Unlike you, apparently. I look at her face, perfectly bronzed and set off by little pearl studs.

She smiles, that plastic little half-turn of the lip that I think we invented out in California, and just like that, I disappear from her line of vision. Forever.

I was an idiot for thinking that the East Coast would be different.

Swallowing, I raise my bag up a little higher on my shoulder and walk over towards the dorm, passing the table for the anime club with something that feels a little like regret.

 

CHAPTER 7

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 27

TYLER

Nothing gets a direct response from SlayerGrrl. For each question I have, Rick answers. He might ask her, but it's him that texts me. If she sent me a text, even if she blocked the number, I could trace it. She doesn't return my emails. Maybe I should use more emoticons. Girls like emoticons, right? Smiley faces and shit.

Sucks. I knew they gave me a fake name when she came to my house, which is fine. No contact or whatever, I get it. So I checked her gamer record. When she hit one of the high scores at some LA Comic-Con, they made her sign for her prize with her real name and not just her gamertag. Used the gamertag and tracked it back and got her name… Ani Bagdorian.

Pronounced “ahh-knee.” It's an Armenian name, or at least that's what Google says. She's from LA. I know nothing about LA. Except that's where they make movies. And it's supposed to be hot. I shake my foot. Need to think. I yank open the door to class. Need to think. Should be playing the sim. Not here. Not in school. Need to think.

Do girls walk around in bikinis in LA? They do in the movies. Blondes with big tits and roller skates hanging out under palm trees. Ani would look great in a bikini. Wish she'd at least accept my Facebook friend request.

Test. There's a test today? Shit. Right. No, it's cool. It's History. I can do this. Only failing because I'm never here for the tests. Never make them up when I miss them. Nodding at Alpha in the back of the class, I shove my books under the desk. Alpha's got this black hair that covers most of his face, and a beard that takes care of the rest. He raises his hand in greeting. Looks back at his desk.

Get the paper. Why is the classroom always so quiet? Don't they have a radio they can turn on or something? Even crappy music would be better than nothing. I look down at the test. OK. Well, maybe I can't do this.

Look at the clock. An hour and a half. Look at the test. Names and dates and laws and wow this is going to be a really long ninety minutes.

I read question number one. I don't know who signed the Treaty of Versailles. I should have read the chapters at least. Reading is hard, though. Takes time and energy and concentration and it's just so much easier to not do it. Lines and letters everywhere, fighting to make sense but mostly just don't. Takes forever just to get through a page.

Essay questions. Good. Do those first. Get to choose. Gross domestic product driving decisions about rebuilding after the war. Shit. OK. Back to question one. Is it hot? I move. Focus. Read the question. Has to be some guys that I know. Perfume? Is Jack in front of me wearing cologne or something? Smells awful. OK, twist around again. Look out the window. Is the sun going down yet? How long is ninety minutes? Can't do this. No, focus. Read question two, you can go back to number one. Shit. Takes forever to read, the question is really long and has a lot of different people in it and I don't know who any of them are. Can't do this. I grind my back into the hard plastic of the chair, slamming my feet into the ground. Good, got question two. OK, focus. Question three. Need to leave. But the letters aren't coming together and that cologne is going to make me sneeze and I can almost hear that clock, that clock that's meaningless because the ninety minutes is just for everyone else, and for me, with extra time, it's a life-sentence. I have to stay here until I'm done. Forever and ever and ever and now the clock is ringing in my ears and the lines are jumping all over the page and the smell, oh God the smell of that cologne is riding up my nose and rotting my brain from the inside out.

I push up from the desk. The feet of the chair scratching at the tile floor is the only sound in the room. Walking to the front of the room, I put the test down on the teacher's desk. “I'm done.”

“But it's only been fifteen minutes,” she says. Her eyes look sad, worried, almost. “Take it back to the desk, Tyler. Give it another try, you can sit in the hall if you want.”

“Later.” I wave as I walk out the door, sneakers wrecking the perfect silence of the empty hall, drowning out the clear notes of sorrow in her protests.

 

Where's Mom? She's supposed to be home by now. I sent her a text. OK, three texts. She can't forget. She has to drive me. The Department of Motor Vehicles closes at five. It's 4.15 and if I don't get there soon I won't have time to take the test and won't get my license. Need my license. Need it today.

I call her cell and walk up the driveway. Don't see her car. Don't see her coming. Third ring. No answer. Where the hell is she? Why does she always flake out like this? Fifth ring. No car. No answer.

I pace. Up and down and up and down the driveway. Voicemail. Again. I hang up. Dial her work number. Pick up pick up pick up. Have to get there. She can't forget, she can't. Reminded her every day for the past week. Hell, probably two weeks.

Third ring. No answer. Not at her desk. I text her again. Dammit, Mom! She can't just forget like this. She can't but she will. She totally will. I kick the side of the house. Kick it again. And again.

The phone buzzes. I look down. Mom. She sends me a text:

Sorry, I completely forgot. But things are really busy here, I have to work on this case. Be back late tonight. Maybe we can get your license next week?

Why can't just for one day I have a normal freaking life with a normal mom who…

“Tyler!” A car pulls into the driveway. Rick. Thank God. “Aren't you supposed to be getting your license today?”

“Yeah” – I hold up my phone – “Think mom forgot, though.”

“I thought that she might. Get in, if we hurry we can still make it to the one in North Haven before they close.” He smiles, motions with his head for me to get into the car. I rush around to the passenger side. Throw open the door. Hop in.

“Thanks, man.” I adjust the seat so that it slides back and I can stretch my legs. Grateful with every breath I take that at least Rick is functional. At least Rick gives a damn. “You really just saved my ass.”

“Anytime.” He backs up and we're off. Just hope we can make it before they close.

 

Ani

Why is he so determined to talk to me? I lay on my bed, running through a mental list of possible answers, my mind hovers around one:

He must like me.

How do I feel about that? Giddy? Excited? Terrified? Stretching out on top of my comforter, I pull my philosophy text up onto my lap. No one has ever sought me out. Not if they didn't need me to do something for them. Even Julie, and she's my sister.

And he's cute, too. Really cute. My heart flitters around right behind my ears and I push my arm into my forehead. I need to think. Maybe he just needs something, or has a question about the sim. Checking to make sure Christy is out of the room, I pull out my laptop and call up the tracers I put on all the sim systems. Access to this new technology, or at least the technology that it's based on, is highly classified. Mr Anderson's department came up with very specific parameters for its use. It's part of the reason why he doesn't want me to talk to the kids after I set up their systems. I may not be able to talk to Tyler, but I guess I can make sure his system isn't buggy from here. Staring at lines of code, searching for patterns, for anything off, my mind narrows, focuses, comes to life.

Wait a minute, there's a line I didn't write. Looks like nothing more than a linking program but I back it all up anyway, in case I'm missing something. Mr Anderson would be pissed to know that I have my own private log record of his program. But nothing will end a career faster than not having sufficient backup.

My cell rings. I kick my roommate's jeans out of my way as I go over to my coat and pull out the phone. “Julie?”

“Hey babe, what's up?” Her voice is bouncy, like her curls, like her smile, like, well, her. You'd never know that it was past eleven out in California, not with Julie. She's never tired.

“Um, nothing.” Maybe I should ask her about Tyler. She's dated enough guys to know whether or not I should write him back or forget him.

“Any Ivy League hotties out there to tell me about?” She's so up, all the time. UCLA is perfect for her, she even made the cheerleading team.

I scoff. “No, but there is this guy…”

“Does he go to Yale?”

“Well, no, he's–”

“Ani, ditch him. Every relationship I've ever seen where the guy goes to one school and the girl goes to another never works out. They might pretend that it does for a while but then the next thing you know you're walking downtown with your girlfriends and see your guy sucking face with some girl he told you was just his cousin. Anyway, moving on, I need your help.”

Of course she does. “Um, OK, which class?”

“Psychology 101, section three, with Professor Hernandez.”

“Psych? I thought you wanted to major in Psych?” I ask, not as surprised as I expected to be.

“Ugh. I did, until I got shoved in that moron's class. Did you know that he actually gave me a D on my test? A D! Doesn't he know that this school needs me?”

“Did you study?” I try and cut off the usual tirade.

“Of course… mostly… he just hates women, Ani.” She loves to play up to my feminist side.
Loves
it.

“Alright. When are grades due?”

“The profs put them in by midnight on the ninth.”

“Got it, consider it a C.” I scribble down the info. I'll do it after class.

“Love you, Ani! And ditch the guy from the other school, it's a waste of time!”

She makes kiss-smacking noises into the phone and I give her a half-hearted goodbye. Ditch the guy. She's right, of course, I have to just forget him. I can't break my contract with Mr Anderson. I can't. He helped me out of an impossible situation. He not only helped me out of it but also offered me a job, a way to pay for a college as amazing as Yale.

Fingers seeming to move on their own, I stare at Tyler's latest email: