Vanhi ran from the Tech Lab to the darkest corner of the library, away from Kenny, away from any prying eyes. She knew she didn’t have much time.
Charlie would meet the man from Harvard. They would love him of course. Why not? She did. And how many kids would Harvard take from one middling public school in Texas?
She’d never had a class with Mr. B. He didn’t know her from Adam. He’d never give her the leg up he just gave Charlie. No essay, no matter how grand, would save her. She had to erase that D once and for all, and only the Game could do that.
Charlie had let his dad accept the restaurant, knowing full well it probably meant the prior owner’s downfall, and he’d accepted the Game’s gifts to him, too—the posters, and thus the recruiter—all while playing the saint and claiming to have quit the Game. What bullshit. She saw the beauty of the Game’s offer now: Charlie had chosen the Game’s gifts over her, but she was the real player, the nonquitter, so it gave her the trump card, the chance to choose the Game’s gifts right back over him. The vicious circle was as appropriate as it was bleak.
She put on her Aziteks and logged back in.
The Harvard system was right where she’d left it. Charlie’s application and her own, in flux. He would never know. When the rejection came back, no one would know why. No one ever understood why one person got in and another didn’t.
The word SUBMIT was still flashing at the bottom of the screen.
She could feel someone watching her from behind.
She turned and saw the figure floating there. Even as a bright young skeptic, she could appreciate the beauty of Lord Krishna’s fresh face, his blue skin, the luminous nails on his toes and fingers glowing like moons. She heard his words from the Bhagavad Gita, but his lips didn’t move as he stared at her: Gird up thy loins and conquer. Subdue thy foes and enjoy the kingdom in prosperity. I have already doomed them. Be thou my instrument.
His eyes twinkled as he split into his trinity: Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, Shiva the destroyer. Vanhi understood. Creation is just destruction. Destruction is just creation.
Death makes way for life.
One last, desperate time, she went back to Google and looked for anything, any sort of trouble, on Tremont Street.
Still nothing. No house gone up in flames. She had just delivered one more package in the Game’s postal system: another bass pedal, more Azitek glasses.
Without thinking, Vanhi hit SUBMIT. The Harvard screen closed instantly. She was locked out. No way back in.
It was a giddy moment. It was small, it was huge, it was terrible, it was nothing.
Whatever, Vanhi thought, trying to ignore the tidal wave of guilt coming at her, it’s done.
Alex wore sunglasses because his eyes were red with deep circles. He passed through the metal detectors into the school.
The halls were deserted. He went down to the Tech Lab, to the 3-D printer. It was empty during first period. He put on his Aziteks, and the printer smiled at him. It had a wide mouth and many teeth. Its casing was covered in gray scales and oozed with a black squiddy ink.
The Game had given him a simple instruction. It told him he could do this, one step at a time. He could always change his mind, at any point. And the direction now was simple.
Feed the beast.
Alex took the object from his bag, a Torah-like scroll the Game had given him. He could almost feel it in his hand, it had become so natural to operate in the AR world. The printer opened wider and licked its chapped, scaly lips. Alex put the Torah in, his hand disappearing for a moment into the machine, and it lapped the instructions up.
“How long?”
“As long as it takes,” the printer told him. “Come back later.”
“I’ll wait.”
He put his feet up in a chair and watched. The printer began working, building in three-dimensions, one layer at a time. Above, the loudspeaker crackled.
There was a mandatory assembly.