I stood in front of Sophi’s house for what seemed like ten minutes. I was about to hang out with a girl on a Saturday night for the first time. I had no idea what I was doing.
Her house had a huge garden in the front yard that was filled to the perimeter with flowers, shrubs, and what looked like tomatoes, peppers, and squash. I slowly stepped up to the door and rang the bell. Instead of the usual “ding-dong,” I heard what sounded like a stringed instrument being plucked.
“I GOT IT!”
She was wearing a flowery skirt and another pair of those long, dangly earrings, and her red-streaked hair was straight. Those dual-colored eyes stared at me for a second, waiting for me to do something. I didn’t budge.
“Hi!” Now she was reaching out to hug me. Okay, that’s doable. I hugged back. Snap. Just like that first time she shook my hand, static electricity from her black sweater shocked me.
“Sorry! We’ll get going now,” she said, sitting down on a bench near the door that looked like a tree trunk to put on knee-high boots.
Minutes later, we were at the train station.
“Where exactly are we going?” I asked.
“You’ll see. Nowhere touristy. I want to show you the real city.”
“I’m in. I can’t believe I’ve never been there.”
“It lives up to the hype. Trust me.”
Oh, right. The plan was to go to what everyone called “The City.” My parents thought I was going to play video games at one of my teammate’s houses.
When we boarded the train, we encountered a bizarre mixture of passengers, from a group of older girls wearing skimpy clothes and caked-on makeup to spiky-haired boys watching them while adjusting their tight jeans and button-down shirts. Sophi and I sat down in the only free seats and continued chatting before we were rudely interrupted—a man jumped into a seat facing ours, talking loudly on his cell phone. I noticed a patch in his shoe-polish-black hair was completely white, almost like a stamp on the side of his head. It sounded like he was arguing with someone. Loudly. Sophi rolled her eyes as the train sped toward the City.
Forty-five minutes later, in the huge station, I tried to take in the scene of what seemed like thousands of people heading in thousands of different directions. But it was all a blur accompanied by the collective hum of everyone talking at once.
“Where are we headed?” I asked again.
“The subway. I’m taking you downtown.”
On the first Saturday night of every month, she told me, the art galleries that lined the nearby streets opened their doors to the public. Older men in blazers sipped wine out of plastic cups and scanned the walls, while younger twenty-somethings with countless piercings and tattoos nibbled on cheese and crackers, smirking at what they saw.
Each gallery had a different style of work on its walls or sitting on pedestals. In the first space, we saw nothing but photos of animal tails. The next had enormous sculptures meant to look like insects, but they were made out of recyclable materials like bottles and cans. Another one had modern takes on classic paintings.
“I don’t get it,” I said softly to Sophi, as we stared at a Barbie doll coming out of a seashell instead of Venus.
“It’s supposed to be a take on our consumerist culture,” she said.
“Right.” What?
I heard a gravelly voice behind me comment: “Fascinating.” I glanced to my left as he walked past and did a double take. The side of his head looked like it had a white patch in it … just like the man on his cell phone on the train. But the lights were dimmed, so I couldn’t tell. Creepy.
We stepped out the door and across the street to a place where EDM music was thumping. The gallery was the oddest thing I’d ever seen: there was a ladder leading up to a smudge in the ceiling with a magnifying glass hanging next to it (I found out later the smudge was one word in tiny print: “THINK”). A stuffed lion with a missing jaw crouched, ready to attack. There was so much to take in and a huge crowd to wade through.
“I read about the artist. She’s a twenty-year-old woman from Japan. So cool,” Sophi said above the music. I just nodded.
We elbowed our way to the back wall, where there was a giant neon sign in fluorescent pink script: LAUGHTER.
“This would look great in my room,” I cracked. Sophi chuckled, right before she was bumped by someone trying to get by.
She put out her hand against the wall to stop herself from falling over. The sign started to hiss, pop, and blink as the light faded in and out, and the music stopped momentarily. When Sophi steadied herself and took her hand away, the sign returned to glowing and the techno returned to thumping.
“Sorry, I must have hit a wire in the wall or something,” she said. “I think that’s enough art for one night.”
Sophi headed toward the door as I stood back for a moment. I saw a dozen dirty looks shoot her way as she pushed through the crowd to the door. What just happened? I shook my head and followed her.
We stood outside near the cobblestone-lined street. “What now?” she asked.
“I don’t know. How can I match all the cool stuff you’ve shown me?”
“Try. I don’t know that much about what you like to do, so you’ve got to show me.”
We could head back home and throw around a football? Lame. We could watch a college football game somewhere? Quadruple lame. Was I really that shallow that all I knew and liked was sports? Or …
I had an idea. I grabbed my phone and typed in a search. Instantly, an address popped up. I handed the cell to Sophi. “Can you get us there?”
“Sure!”
One fifteen-minute subway ride later, we arrived in the middle of the touristiest place on Earth, at least by Sophi’s estimation.
The skyscrapers surrounding us were covered in advertisements, blinking lights, and high-definition screens. Once again, I heard the sounds of thousands of people talking at once, multiple cars honking, and the calls of street vendors. “Two for ten dollars! Two for ten!” There was an instantaneous smell of cooking street food and live animals, probably because we stood about ten feet away from a pair of policemen sitting on horses.
“My phone says the arcade is three blocks away,” Sophi said, trying to get me to pay attention as I watched a bearded man on a bicycle with a cart attached ride by with a couple in the back.
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re like all the tourists. You can’t stop looking at all the pretty lights,” she said as we weaved our way through the foot traffic.
“You have to admit, this is incredible for someone who hasn’t been here before.”
“I guess.” We stopped at the corner and waited for a green light.
Sophi looked down the block at the scene, the endless colored lights dancing on her face. She stared up at one of the signs, which featured a massive cup of soup with actual steam rising out of it.
“I can sort of see it. Just imagine how much energy it takes to keep everything running,” she said, as she put her hand against the streetlamp.
The light above her immediately went out, as did the stoplight connected to it. I opened my mouth to wonder aloud what had happened, but nothing came out as we watched the signs ahead of us shut down one by one. One second a screen was filled with a skinny woman drinking a soda. The next second, gone. The steaming soup was no longer illuminated, and the blinking lights around an advertisement for a new musical stopped.
“Sophi?”
I felt someone reach out to grab my arm.
Zzzst!
As I yelped from the shock, everything came on all at once, temporarily blinding me and the rest of the mob around us. There was a buzz of concern as everyone wondered what had happened.
“Probably a temporary blackout. I’ve seen it happen,” Sophi said before I could ask. I looked at her quizzically as people started walking around us.
I couldn’t follow her right away. First, she touches a wall and an entire neon sign starts flickering, then a “temporary blackout” in the middle of the City? I had so many questions. But I also didn’t want to ruin what had been a pretty perfect night so far.
“Alex! Hello!” Sophi was almost all the way across the street, waving her arms. I jogged to catch up and as the light turned red. Don’t ruin this. She’ll tell you when she wants to tell you.
We arrived at our destination: BarCode—apparently one part arcade, one part bar. Obviously, the bouncer took one look at us and directed us downstairs to the arcade.
“Video games?” she asked skeptically.
“No good?” I asked back.
The reflection off a blacklight on the staircase revealed a curious smile. “Pick your poison,” she said.
Our first stop was racing head-to-head at the Grand Prix while sitting in simulated cars that shook every time we hit a wall or bumped into each other. As I managed to get my car around the final turn for an easy victory, I looked over at Sophi and saw her screen black out.
“No fair! That’s a glitch!”
“I was so far ahead, it wouldn’t have mattered!”
Next, in an epic battle of air hockey, Sophi beat me seven to six. No, I didn’t let her win, though her final goal threw me off as the table stopped sending air through the holes as she leaned over for a hard shot off the right side.
I began to feel like I was being hustled.
“Let’s play something together,” she announced.
I scanned the arcade, looking for something that fit the description. My gaze landed on Dance Party. But I didn’t dance. Ever.
It was too late. Before I could open my mouth to protest she practically dragged me over to the machine, which had just been vacated by a couple of what looked like third graders. Sophi threw in a few tokens, selected “cooperative,” and turned to me as I shied away from the elevated platform.
“Come on! This’ll be fun.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Don’t be such a downer.”
“I’ll sit this one out.”
Sophi hopped down and looked me in the eye. “How are you ever going to throw a football in front of hundreds of people if you’re too much of a wuss to play Dance Party?” Sheepishly, I stepped up to the game. Sophi then threw me for a loop, choosing the “Impossible” level.
As booming bass music began to play, I realized why they called it “impossible”: the directions telling us which part of the grid to step on scrolled by so fast I didn’t have time to process them. I looked over at Sophi, with her flowery dress flopping everywhere, and saw she was getting most of them. Left, up, left, down, down, split left/right, up, up. I was falling behind and getting flustered. I missed another set of moves and got so frustrated that I prepared to jump off just to watch what Sophi would do, but the aroma of toasted marshmallows wafted in.
Squeeeeeeeee
My feet began moving. I looked back up at the screen in time to see the pattern change, and my steps moved along with it. Left-right-left-left-split right/left-split up/down … I was on autopilot. I heard some shouts behind me and turned my head a bit to see a crowd of teenagers and adults had formed behind us, cheering us on. I began laughing, and I heard Sophi giggle too. As I turned back to the game to finish my epic performance, I saw the face of one of our fans reflected in the screen. He didn’t look amazed, and he wasn’t looking at the screen. He was staring right at me. I could have sworn there was a circle of white hair among the black. My legs continued on autopilot as I searched the reflection in the screen to confirm it was the same Mr. Patch from the train and, potentially, the gallery. But as I squinted, I saw him walk away.
And just as that happened, our screens went dark.
The crowd groaned in disappointment but we jumped off the machine to applause. The screen indicated the game had re-set. … and somehow, I wasn’t surprised.
Strangers high fived us and told us we were robbed as we walked out.
“That was incredible! Too bad we couldn‘t enter our high score,” I said.
“And you thought you couldn’t dance.”
I remembered what she said a few days ago about seeing my muscles pop right before my amazing feat of athleticism in gym class, and wondered if that had happened again. I wanted to tell her everything about all these weird moments that didn’t belong to me and find out if the same thing was happening to her. But before I could open my mouth, I saw the face of my watch: 10:45 p.m.
“When’s the next train?”
“11:05, I think.”
“Oh, no.” Game over.