CHAPTER 2
Bradley
Goggles. Sleek and shiny.
But not like stupid ski goggles, or “flying debris” woodshop goggles, or I-can-see-you-underwater swimming goggles.
Virtual reality goggles. Like the kind I keep begging for for Christmas or my birthday or Groundhog Day or the groundhog’s birthday—or any day the groundhog or anyone else wanted to give them to me.
And not just normal VR goggles like you could buy at the store. These were incredible. They had the attached surround-sound headphones and face-tracking cameras. They had temperature-control fans. They had a boom microphone.
My nerdy heart pounded like the beat to Avalanche’s hit “Show Stopper.”
I lifted the goggles out of the box like they were the crown jewels. Or some ancient precious vase in a crate at the museum. Or the last donut in the box when I knew I wouldn’t get another donut for a month. Or like I was the last kid I knew who didn’t have a VR system.
So daebak.
I put them on and pushed the power button. The interface cushions that rested against my face were as soft as marshmallows, but thankfully not as sticky. That would be incredibly unsanitary.
Darkness.
Oh, right! I needed to charge them. Without power they were just a fancy blindfold.
While they charged, I turned back to the package. Under another layer of bubble wrap I found two controller gloves, then a tracker belt and ankle straps so the computer would know how my body was moving. A normal VR system only comes with the headset and handheld controllers. This was like a bonus package with all the (expensive) extras.
After I charged it all, I put it on, feeling a lot like an action hero gearing up for the final showdown against the forces of evil. (Seriously, when you tighten that many straps, you just have to say things like “gear up” while imagining the movie montage.)
As I put on the goggles, my world changed immediately. I wasn’t in my room anymore. I was in a school hallway lined with lockers. I was somewhere else entirely.
I mean, I know that’s what VR does, but it wasn’t like I’d ever had friends that invited me over to try out their system.
It was both awesome and terrible at the same time. The graphics were amazing, but the location was completely disappointing. School? Seriously? Why not walking the Great Wall of China, or landing on Mars, or on a concert stage in front of millions of fans?
A woman stepped out of one of the classrooms into the hallway just a few feet in front of me. Her avatar was stylistic, a mix between a photo and a video-game character. She was tall with light brown skin, a blue dress suit, and one of those short bob haircuts that look really professional and also kind of like a grown-up Dora the Explorer.
“Welcome to Balderstein Virtual Junior High,” she said. “I’m Mila Holota, the director of the virtual school department at NovaMillennium, the company that made this virtual school. She spread her arms out, gesturing around. “As you can tell, Balderstein VJH will look similar to a regular school in many ways.” She was right, though it was a bit larger and looked completely clean, which made it unlike any school in the Balderstein District that I’d ever been in.
Dora the Explorer Lady continued. “It will have hallways, classrooms—” She stepped into a classroom and my point of view followed her without me doing anything. I was on some sort of automatic tour. There were desks and a whiteboard wall. “—and a gym.” Like cutting from one movie scene to another, my point of view followed her into a large gymnasium with basketball hoops and bleachers. “Because our company also makes virtual games, you will have access to some of them as well. For example, Balderstein VJH includes a rec room.” We moved into a large room surrounded by various games. There were bowling lanes, a mini-golf course, and basketball hoops with nets between and beneath them to bring the ball back to the shooter. I’d never seen that in a school before, but it did make some sort of sense. If we were already in a virtual world, it probably didn’t take much to include some games.
“You will have plenty of time to explore the school and the rec room at our orientation party. I’ll tell you more about that later.”
Orientation party? I didn’t like the sound of that. I wanted to explore these games alone. Just me. Only Bradley. Bradley Solo. The Lone Brad. A party meant people, and that had words like awkward, uncomfortable, painful, and people-you-don’t-know-whispering-about-you written all over it.
I hoped it was optional. I’d rather stay home.
“But first,” Dora Lady held up a finger, “you—” she said, pointing at me. (Okay, I’m sure she was pointing at anyone wearing the goggles as they watched the introduction, but right then it was me.) “—you need to make your avatar. Upload several pictures of yourself from different angles. Our program can use it to make a realistic avatar. That’s what I have done.” She twisted a little to the left and right, modeling her own avatar. It was pretty cool that they could do that. I mean, I’d seen all the YouTube videos of people using filters to turn themselves into cartoons or cats or even game avatars, so the technology has been around, but I hadn’t ever done it.
“We recommend you use the real-life photo filter,” Dora Lady said. “Just be you.” She pointed at me again. “Wonderful you.” She obviously didn’t really know who she was pointing at. I hated the way I looked. I wasn’t ugly or anything—at least I didn’t think so. But I wasn’t good-looking either. Nobody was wishing they had my round body or boring brown hair and eyes. I was just super forgettable . . . unless you’ve seen that picture of third-grade me with wet pants.
“However,” she continued, “it’s also possible for you to customize your avatar. But that must be approved by a parent or guardian and your homeroom teacher before orientation. Please submit it before the sixteenth of this month.”
Customize?
That word hung in my brain.
Customize.
It was like it echoed the second time with more meaning. Like I could change things about myself? Like maybe so many things that I could change all of me? Like I could walk the halls and no one would whisper about the third-grade incident.
Customize.
I almost didn’t even dare think it, because I was afraid it wouldn’t be true.
But I thought it again.
And again.
Maybe I didn’t have to be me.
The idea was catchier than the chorus to a Bubble Girls song.
It even made me a little emotional. (Not a lot emotional; I saved that for the last episode of a really good series.) A tiny bit of moisture might have escaped my eye, though.
I knocked my hand against the goggles as I reached up to wipe the tear.
Note to self—don’t cry in your VR equipment. It’s really awkward.