《Octopod! (A Gamelit Adventure)》


 Act I: Chapter 1

    It was too damn hot. The air downtown smelled like a mixture of wet leaves and cement. Rain sprinkled down from grey skies and splashed onto the lenses on my glasses. The mid-summer day wasn¡¯t muggy yet, which meant my dyed-blonde hair would only frizz to half the size of Mount Rushmore once it dried. I started to wish I was sitting at my favorite caf¨¦, hearing the rain gently patter against the pink striped awning, with warm, spiced tea in a little mug and the taste of sugar lingering on my lips.


    I couldn¡¯t do that. I had errands to run.


    Maybe I can get everything done real fast and have time for a donut after, I thought, cramming the black bag under the back seat of my car. My cellphone¡¯s to-do list displayed my next task in obnoxiously-large red letters: Nathan¡¯s Birthday ¨C game w angels fighting giant sea monsters? Flying around. Bow and arrow or slingshot. Expensive? See Drawing.


    My whole back tensed. I had no problem with getting my nephew a big birthday present for his eighteenth birthday. He¡¯d graduated near the top of his class, and he¡¯d nabbed a few significant scholarships. And, more than anyone else I knew, that kid deserved a special day. But how did my step-sister think I¡¯d be able to find Nathan¡¯s mystery game? I hated video games!


    Nancy is a prosecuting attorney, I reminded myself. You¡¯re the receptionist at a motorcycle repair joint. You¡¯ve got time to look. Remember, she¡¯s setting aside a day to treat everyone to that expensive Italian dinner. That¡¯s hard for her.


    I took a deep breath, adjusted my red-rimmed glasses, and began walking towards Fourth Street.


    -x-x-x-


    I never thought I would enter a video game store, especially one called Dragon¡¯s Den Gaming. There were no windows on the ground floor, and the glass door was covered by a purple velvet curtain, so I couldn¡¯t tell what the inside was like. Instinctively my mind conjured up an image of a single, cramped, dark room with dirty video game boxes strewn about on lopsided shelves for customers to sift through. The floor would be water damaged, wooden boards groaning in protest with each step. The vague stench of black mold would be everywhere, but was the source? The boxes? Somewhere in the walls? The curtain draped over the door? And, of course, the world¡¯s worst cashier: a bored teenager who wasn¡¯t legally old enough to work, sitting in the corner with a smartphone-turned-register in his hand, waiting for me to leave so he could get back to texting his friends about how unfair it was that he couldn¡¯t get ¡°420¡± tattooed across his cheek.


    My stomach turned at the imaginary Dragon¡¯s Den.


    As I passed through the curtained entryway I let out the breath I was holding. The store was well-organized and clean. Signs dangling from the ceiling announced the types of games available ¨C board games, tabletop gaming, video games, card games ¨C in a faux medieval font. An enormous felt dragon tapestry on the back wall (which probably took a while to make) announced that comic books, DVDs, and collectibles were available upstairs. A woody scent hung in the air, strong enough to be noticeable but faint enough where I didn¡¯t want to puke.


    The front counter had a service bell covered in tiny dragon stickers. The sign next to it read ¡°Need something? Ring me to summon a Gaming Master.¡± I tapped the button on top of the bell.


    ¡°Coming!¡± called a deep, scratchy voice.


    I stiffened. The store itself was neat. The middle-aged man wearing the Magical Boy t-shirt heading towards me was not. He had several small metal earrings in his left ear and his patchy, curly red hair glistened with sweat.


    ¡°Good afternoon,¡± he chirped, holding out a hairy hand for me to shake. ¡°I¡¯m Mac. Welcome to the Dragon¡¯s Den! What can I help you find today?¡±


    ¡°Hello,¡± I said. My fingers barely wrapped around his huge hand. ¡°I¡¯m looking for an old game, but I don¡¯t know which one. My nephew played it once at a friend¡¯s house, around ten years ago¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you know which system it was for?¡±


    ¡°¡­uh?¡±


    ¡°Which console did he play it on? MegaSys? GameGorilla? Super Pro? Maybe Tomodachi Hub?¡± It might have been a basic question. I couldn¡¯t tell. My brain had spontaneously morphed into a bowl of chowder.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°I, uh, don¡¯t know anything about games,¡± I finally managed. ¡°It¡¯s for a birthday present.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s okay!¡± The warm smile that broke across Mac¡¯s face was genuine. ¡°You know what it was about? Or the names of any of the characters? I¡¯ve played a lot of games and a hint might help me figure out what it is.¡±


    ¡°Ahhh¡­¡± I was having too much difficulty processing the ¡°geek¡± in front of me to focus. ¡°He said it was a game about angels fighting giant sea monsters. He remembers flying around and using a bow and arrow, or a slingshot, or something like that.¡±


    ¡°Rrrright. Unfortunately, there¡¯s more than one game that fits that description,¡± Mac said, ¡°though that does narrow it down a lot. Does he remember anything else?¡±


    ¡°He drew a picture.¡± I brought up Nathan¡¯s drawing on my smartphone. ¡°Does this help?¡±


    Mac¡¯s pale grey eyes bugged. ¡°Ohhhh yeah, I definitely know what that is. Oh, man.¡± He grimaced, revealing very square, even teeth. ¡°We actually do have a copy, but¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I let out a nervous laugh. ¡°Is it expensive?¡±


    ¡°Well, I have a copy for sixty-five dollars, so it¡¯s not too expensive, but the issue is,¡± Mac explained, ¡°that it¡¯s a region-locked game for the JP exclusive GameGorilla HAPPY, so you need a Japanese console and an outlet adapter to play it. Then, you¡¯d need a Japanese memory card on top of that if you wanted to save. The console itself is almost impossible to find nowadays.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Whatever he was talking about sounded out-of-budget. ¡°Thank you for telling me. I¡¯ll call Nancy and let her know that I¡¯m buying him something else.¡±


    ¡°Hold on,¡± Mac¡¯s voice grew louder. ¡°Is your nephew hard-set on playing the original? Because there was a 15th anniversary re-release last year for the FantaMeg that would be a lot cheaper, and it had a US release.¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ sure.¡±


    ¡°Follow me.¡± I saw pure joy across Mac¡¯s face for about a quarter of a second before he half-walked, half-bounced towards the staircase leading upstairs.


    The second floor was slightly less neat than the downstairs, with large white boxes stuffed with comics lining tables along one of the walls. A large window let grey daylight seep into the room. In the center was a display case with several dozen figurines of animated characters midmotion underneath thick glass. I would have ignored it had the corner of my eye not caught on a large price tag with ¡°SALE: $199.99.¡±


    My eyebrows furrowed. Two hundred dollars on sale? For plastic? I must have been seeing things. I re-read the sign. It still said two hundred dollars. My eyes trailed upward. I had to know ¨C what character would someone spend more than two hundred dollars on?


    I found myself looking at striped black-and-grey tentacles. They curved and looped as if they were frozen in the middle of a hypnotic underwater dance. At first I thought I was looking at a scientifically-accurate octopus figurine, but there were only six tentacles, and there was a brown-skinned human body up top. A male body, shredded like a superhero, with several large tattoos of tentacles wrapped around him. His clawed fingers were bent into a menacing position. His eyes¡­


    I choked on my own saliva. A brand-new emotion shot through my chest like a miniature lightning bolt. They weren¡¯t unusual eyes for a cartoon character, big and ¡°villainous¡± with a heavy brow. The ¡°whites¡± of his eyes were pale yellow, and his tiny irises had horizontal pupils, like a goat. They weren¡¯t pretty eyes by anyone¡¯s standards.


    OK, Liz¡­ why is your heart pounding?


    The rest of the character¡¯s face looked somewhat more attractive, with an angular jawline, squarish nose, and full lips. He had an open smile with pointed grey teeth. Thin, striped tentacles sprouted out of the sides of the figurine¡¯s otherwise-bald head and swirled around it, a twisted version of pigtails.


    His eyes.


    I turned away from the display case. It didn¡¯t help. My pulse still thundered in my ears.


    The hell is wrong with me? Octopus-man was just an overpriced kitschy knick-knack¨Cso what was I feeling? Was I afraid? Enchanted? Turned on? I shuffled a little. It did feel a bit damp down there¡­


    ¡°Found it! Eagle¡¯s Quarry, Deluxe Anniversary Edition.¡±


    I squeaked. I¡¯d forgot Mac was looking for Nathan¡¯s present. ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, plastering my best customer-service smile across my face. Mac handed me the box, to which I replied, ¡°SHIT!¡±


    ¡°¡­Ma¡¯am?¡± Mac asked.


    ¡°Oh, sorry, I just remembered something I forgot to do, and I need to get it done, and¡­ yep!¡±


    His fucking eyes were right there on the cover of Eagle¡¯s Quarry! The rest of the figure was bathed in shadow, looming above a band of cartoon bird warriors, but there was no mistaking those tentacle-pigtails, or the way his gaze peered out from beneath his brow.


    ¡°Is ¡®tentacle hunk¡¯ in this game?¡± I asked, pointing at the figure behind me with my thumb. I kept my focus on Mac so that I wouldn¡¯t accidentally see those painted-on eyes again.


    ¡°Oooooh, good catch!¡± said Mac. ¡°That¡¯s MC Tentachill, the Big Bad. He¡¯s a moron! He¡¯s got a really hard boss fight, though.¡±


    See, Liz? I thought. You must be imagining things. No way you¡¯d be having a spiritual experience with someone named MC Tentachill.

 Act I: Chapter 2

    ¡°Curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity. Killed. The cat.¡± I repeated the cliche aloud, hoping I¡¯d convince myself to return the used console and second copy of Eagle¡¯s Quarry sitting in the plastic bag on the seat behind me.


    Two weeks had passed between my first and second visits to Dragon¡¯s Den. That meant I¡¯d already had at least fourteen dreams about octopuses. Some nights I would dream that I was at an aquarium, where a small one was nestled in the corner of a large tank. Other times I was scuba diving and watching several crawl around a coral reef. Usually I was floating in a dark void, a spread of grey-and-red tentacles before me and nothing else.


    Last night, I realized the tentacles were mine.


    This is just to shut up your stupid, overactive imagination, I told myself. You¡¯ve done this before. Remember how you worried for three days about how gross Dragon¡¯s Den was going to be? The nightmares you had about finding mold on everything in the fridge? This is the same thing.


    My palms started to burn. At some point I¡¯d put my poor steering wheel in a chokehold. I loosened my grip.


    You¡¯re overthinking. You¡¯ve talked with your therapist about this. Play the game. Then you¡¯ll realize you¡¯re making shit up, and the weird dreams will go away.


    It was a risk-free plan, even for my wallet. Everything from Dragon¡¯s Den had a fourteen-day return policy. I only had to plug in the system, play the game for an hour or two, then return everything. Based on the cover, the game was in that tired ¡°knights-of-old¡± genre. That meant it would lose my interest, my anxiety would be eased, all the octopus dreams would stop, and I didn¡¯t even have to worry about the $150 that I just dropped.


    I heaved a sigh. In a few hours, I would finally be over those damn eyes.


    I rammed against the front door to get it unstuck from its frame. The muggy season was officially here, and with it all the problems unique to an old apartment where an AC unit was against fire code. Several well-placed box fans kept the apartment cool, but did jack shit about the moisture in the air.


    I threw my purse onto the kitchen table and headed to the living room area, collapsing onto the worn-out living room couch. Deep breathing techniques the entire ride home didn¡¯t ease any of my worries. What if Mac accidentally sold me a broken controller? Was the console compatible with my LCD screen? What if I actually wasn¡¯t imagining that Tentachill¡¯s eyes¡­


    Nope, not doing this right now. I smashed my face into one of the couch cushions and breathed deeply. The smells of my childhood came rushing in ¨C cigarettes from before dad kicked the habit, mom¡¯s favorite perfume, dust from the last forty years, a hint of spilled grape juice. My heartbeat softened and slowed. Feeling calmer, I punched ¡°How to hook up FantastiMega 3000¡± into my web browser.


    When I was seven years old, one of the neighbor kids invited me over to play some game about a purple cat with a ray gun. He jammed in the cartridge, jabbed the power switch, and the room instantly filled with tinny music. But when the FantastiMega 3000 flickered to life, instead a title screen, a host of buttons appeared¨C Shop, Internet, Profile, Settings. A bossa nova groove wafted out of my speakers. I stared at the complicated startup screen. Did I just buy a game system or a new computer?


    After selecting the icon marked Eagle¡¯s Quarry, a blue sky with puffy white clouds came into view. A gold hawk-boy character, dressed as a medieval peasant, walked onscreen. He stared into the distance with eyes that were big, blue, and clear. A brown bird peasant, this one short and plump with beady eyes and big, round glasses, appeared behind him and placed a winglike arm on the first one¡¯s shoulder. A duck with curly lashes joined them, tears wobbling at the corners of her enormous green eyes. The world spun around, revealing that the characters were at the edge of a seaside cliff with an enormous, rampaging whirlpool before them. Angry trumpets blared, cymbals crashed, lightning bolts leaped out of the whirlpool. The words Eagle¡¯s Quarry faded in over the scene. Then, two smaller words in white: Press Start.


    Which button was ¡°Start?¡± My thumb accidentally bumped against one marked B.


    ¡°Select File,¡± an angelic voice cooed. (Guess I didn¡¯t have to press the tiny button marked Start after all.) I moved the cursor¡ªa feathered pointing hand¡ªover New Game and pressed B once more.


    ¡°Since ancient times, us Wingfolk have done battle with the greedy Octopods of the Sea Cave Domain.¡± I wasn¡¯t surprised that the game began with an old man¡¯s voice narrating over scrolling hieroglyphics. Mac had warned me that Eagle¡¯s Quarry was ¡°cutscene¡± mini-movie heavy and that it ¡°interrupted play flow.¡± Seafoam covered the hieroglyphics, muffling the music for a few seconds. When the wave ebbed away, a carving of MC Tentachill¡¯s silhouette filled my screen.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°The Octopus God is cruel,¡± the old man said. ¡°He manipulates the will of his own people with malevolent hymns. It is only by the grace of our Village Goddess that we are unaffected by his twisted music.¡±


    Seafoam covered the hieroglyphics again, uncovering a new scene with a squat, robed, yellow bird-man. He had a pointed hat, curly walking stick, and hairy white eyebrows that took up a quarter of his face. The hawk-boy from the title screen walked beside him with a crudely made slingshot in his feathery hand. Nearby were several grass huts. I snorted as I realized that flowers were somehow growing out of the clouds that made up the ground.


    ¡°Octopod greed extends beyond the Sea Cave Domain,¡± the old bird continued, motioning the tip of his walking stick towards an empty pedestal. ¡°The Blue Crystal, which keeps us prosperous and enhances the powers of our dear Village Goddess, has once again fallen into their hands. You already know the power which it holds.¡±


    ¡°Why me, Elder?¡± the hawk-boy asked. ¡°Why not send one of the trained warriors to retrieve the Crystal?¡± The Elder stared off into the distance and stroked at the white feathers below his beak, which were puffed out to resemble a beard.


    ¡°My boy, the Crystal is fickle,¡± he said. ¡°It favors, even above the Gods, those innocent enough to not abuse its power. Though my soldiers fight well, they have seen too much to take advantage of its grace. But you! You are still young! The Crystal will surely bless you.¡±


    The hawk-boy closed his eyes and nodded solemnly, making a soft ¡°Nn¡± noise to let the Elder know that he understood.


    ¡°We will see you at the ceremony tonight,¡± the Elder said. ¡°Make sure you¡¯re ready!¡± With that, he shuffled off. The hawk-boy was now standing still in the middle of the village.


    The tiny amount of experience I had with video games told me to press every button and see what it did. I wiggled the joystick in a circle. The hawk-boy twirled around. I pressed the B button and hawk-boy jumped. The A button made him shoot a pellet from his slingshot. The X and Y buttons didn¡¯t seem to do anything.


    Five minutes later I was ready to give up. The gate leading out of the village was locked shut, a bird villager was constantly yelling ¡°yoo-hoo,¡± and a circular icon in the corner of the screen constantly flashed different words at me ¨Cleap, open, chat, crawl. The game made no sense. I growled and shut the FantastiMega off.


    That sucked more than I thought it would. I thought. I¡¯m going to return it as soon as I can.


    A pale blue light, wavering as if I were looking at it from underwater. There was nothing else but a black void around it.


    Tentacles, many. Where my legs should be. Where my hair should be. I felt them twitching, writhing, curling into perfect spirals. It was normal, natural to be this way.


    A song, fast and steady, my body moving in time with it. My three heartbeats quickened to match its tempo. The music sounded urgent.


    A voice, deep, raspy, powerful, and familiar. The voice of someone that my soul trusted. It spoke in a gurgling language that I somehow understood.


    ¡°Rise, Octopus!¡±


    My eyes shot open to a dark bedroom. The bead-curtain-covered ceiling faintly glimmered by the light from the street lamp outside. It was still the middle of the night. There was a thick layer of sweat coating my chest and neck. Blech! I stumbled out of bed and headed for my out-of-date pink bathroom.


    An octopus dream? I thought as I turned the shell-shaped shower faucet from cool to hot. Why? I hated Eagle¡¯s Quarry! Why didn¡¯t the dreams stop?


    The water from the shower was just hot enough to raise goosebumps up and down my arms. I squeezed an enormous glob of sugar-scented shower gel onto my bath puff and scrubbed vigorously at the sweat-slime on my chest. It had been years since I¡¯d had a nightmare that caused me to wake up drenched.


    It wasn¡¯t a nightmare. A doubting thought had snuck in. You felt nice. That was a good dream.


    Oh, shut up, brain, I snapped at myself. Who gets the sweats from dreams that aren¡¯t nightmares? It was either a bad dream, or I¡¯m using too many blankets.


    My mental logic made perfect sense. Nobody ever woke up with heart pounding and enough sweat to quench a desert¡¯s thirst from a nice dream. And it wasn¡¯t a wet dream either, no smooth-talking hunk panting while lying on top of me. Therefore, it must have been a nightmare.


    I turned the shower off. Water dripped from my hair, making heavy thud, thud, thud noises against the coral and cream bathroom tiles. I was lying to myself. The dream wasn¡¯t a nightmare at all.


    A calling. The thought caused me to pause. Was I being contacted by something more than human?


    It¡¯s him! It¡¯s MC Tentachill!


    No, anxiety, it is NOT that stupid octopus man, you¡¯re just being extreme, I said to myself. I¡¯m going back to bed, and this time, no octopus dreams, please!


    The alarm clock next to my bed read 3:45 as I snuggled into my blankets. Stars dotted the night sky outside. The fan propped up in my window hummed softly. It should have been enough to lull me to sleep. Instead, I tossed and turned.


    Should I schedule an earlier appointment with my therapist? I wondered, squeezing my knees around one of my extra pillows. There was a strange homesickness gnawing at my stomach, but I¡¯d lived in the same area for all my life. There wasn¡¯t another ¡°home¡± for me to go to.


    The fact that my thoughts kept returning to a cartoon character was bothering me more than the homesickness. The fictional men I daydreamed about were from adult-only romance novels, not kids¡¯ video games. Why couldn¡¯t I get him out of my head?


    I put on my glasses, made a note in my phone to call the doctor¡¯s office in the morning, and opened my e-reader app. I knew I wasn¡¯t going to be able to sleep any time soon.

 Act I: Chapter 3

    ¡°I thought we were eating at an Italian restaurant,¡± I yelled into the phone. ¡°What do you mean we¡¯re getting sushi?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what he wants to eat.¡± My stepsister Nancy sounded worn out. ¡°I tried to tell him that the Italian place was nicer, and he started whining about how he already has enough noodles because he has ramen every day. I don¡¯t wanna sound old, but kids these days. He needs to learn to cook!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t learn to cook until I was in my twenties,¡± I said.


    ¡°Yes, but you weren¡¯t an honors student,¡± Nancy said. ¡°And I expect him to try his best, just like I expect it from my baby sister. By the way, did you find that game for him?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± I bit my lower lip. ¡°It turns out that the version he played was super rare. I bought him the remake. Does he have the FantastiMega 3000 system?¡±


    ¡°I have no idea what he has,¡± Nancy said. ¡°I just know he¡¯d be on it all hours of the day if I didn¡¯t limit his play time.¡±


    ¡°Can you check? It should look like the pic I¡¯m about to send.¡± I hastily snapped a photo of the FantastiMega console sitting on my living room floor.


    ¡°What am I looking at?¡± Nancy asked. ¡°That photo is terrible.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I said, taking a more careful photo. ¡°How¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°...Is that your living room, Lizzie?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± I hated it when she called me Lizzie. It felt like she thought I was still in elementary school. (At eight years older than me, maybe she did see me that way.)


    ¡°Did you really buy the entire console for Nathan in case he didn¡¯t have it!?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I was terrible at lying to my family. ¡°It¡¯s mine.¡±


    ¡°Why do you have a video game system? You hate games!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a long story,¡± I said.


    ¡°Ohhh, I want every juicy detail,¡± Nancy said. I could tell she had just draped herself over her couch, one leg slung dramatically over the armrests, the same way she¡¯d posed when she was a teenaged rock-star wannabe. ¡°Spill. How did you end up with a ¡®Fantastic Game,¡¯ or whatever? Some sexy gamer guy refuse to sleep with you unless you played something with him? Did he tie you up with the controller cable?¡±


    ¡°Nancy, I need to know if he has the system or not! Can you at least go check?¡±


    There were shuffling noises on the phone as my sister walked to Nathan¡¯s room.


    ¡°It has a horse with wings on the top, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°He has it. It¡¯s filthy, but he has it.¡±


    ¡°Good. I¡¯ll be at the Harajuku House at 6.¡±


    -x-x-x-


    The Harajuku House was built five years ago and was not the kind of tacky I enjoyed. It was a freestanding building with cutesy cartoon characters painted all over its pink brick walls and a blobby yellow roof. It looked like a child¡¯s dollhouse, but there was always a steady amount of young adults walking in and out.


    ¡°There you are!¡± Nancy¡¯s voice. I turned to see my fuzzy-haired stepsister, with a strained smile on her face and Nathan, buried in his smartphone. Nancy looked embarrassed by her adopted son¡¯s clothes ¨C a baby pink shirt, baggy purple pants, and a mint green varsity jacket with ¡°LOVELY¡± over the left breast pocket.


    ¡°Hi, Nathan,¡± I said, raising a hand in greeting. Nathan lifted his head from his phone, gave a small smile, and half-raised his hand back. ¡°This place is¡­ neat! What cartoon are these characters from?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not ¡®from¡¯ anything. They¡¯re all supposed to be the different items on the menu,¡± Nathan explained. He pointed to a pink and white kitten with a strawberry on its head, ¡°Like, this one¡¯s supposed to be their Ichigo Boba Tea.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± I didn¡¯t see at all.


    The inside of the Harajuku House was even more outrageous than the outside, with bubble-shaped lightbulbs and cartoon pop art on every candy-colored surface. Bouncy music with squeaky-voiced singers blared out of the speakers. On each table, there was a small mat for the chef to prepare food. I wanted to take a bite out of the air. It smelled delicious!


    ¡°I have no idea why he wanted to come here,¡± Nancy hissed to me.


    ¡°It¡¯s counterculture,¡± I whispered back. ¡°It¡¯s not supposed to make sense to us grown-up types.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s stupid,¡± Nancy said, jerking her thumb towards the back of Nathan¡¯s jacket, which had a shiny-eyed cartoon panda embroidered on it. ¡°He¡¯s way too old to be wearing shirts with teddy bears on them!¡±


    ¡°Remember when you had that jacket with the skulls on it? And how mom always hated when you wore it? It¡¯s kind of the same thing.¡±


    ¡°It is not. Skulls are appropriate for teenagers. This place is for toddlers!¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°It has a full bar and a happy hour.¡± I pointed to a sign on the wall featuring a drunken squirrel. ¡°And I don¡¯t think I see a single kid in here.¡±


    We sat at one of the tables near the far-left corner of the restaurant. A waitress in a pink maid costume approached us. I was glad that Nathan was still looking at his phone as I caught the waitress raise her eyebrows at the sight of two pasty-white adults and one very dark-skinned teenager sitting at the same booth.


    ¡°Welcome to Harajuku House, a slice of Tokyo in America,¡± she squeaked. ¡°Have you been here before?¡±


    ¡°Nope, first time,¡± I said.


    ¡°All right, I¡¯ll give you a moment to look through these. When you¡¯re ready to order, please ring the bell!¡± The waitress handed each of us a thick menu, placed a bell marked ¡°MEIDO¡± on the table, and trotted away.


    The sourest of frowns was on my stepsister¡¯s face as she leafed through the menu. I almost laughed, then my stomach clenched. Visiting this restaurant meant she might get even stricter on Nathan on her nights off.


    ¡°Can I get a boba tea, mom?¡± Nathan asked. He looked absolutely starstruck. I had a feeling he didn¡¯t realize his mom would view the Harajuku House as an ¡°irresponsible¡± place.


    ¡°It¡¯s your celebration. You can even get a dessert today, but make sure you save room for cake at home,¡± Nancy said.


    ¡°What¡¯s boba tea?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s sooooo good!¡± Nathan¡¯s face lit up again. ¡°It¡¯s tea and juice, sometimes milk too, but it has these little candy thingies in it called ¡®boba¡¯ that pop in your mouth. You can put a bunch of other stuff in it too.¡±


    ¡°And ¡®Ann Pan¡¯?¡± asked Nancy. ¡°It says it¡¯s bean bread. Is it coffee?¡±


    ¡°Anpan,¡± Nathan said. ¡°It¡¯s made with sweet beans. I¡¯ve never had it but it¡¯s s¡¯posed to be good.¡±


    ¡°I see curry,¡± I said, ¡°so I¡¯m pretty sure I know what I¡¯m getting.¡±


    ¡°Are we ready to order?¡± asked Nancy.


    ¡°I think so.¡±


    -x-x-x-


    The ¡°Kakkui Curry¡± on my plate had all the vegetables cut into little hearts, which meant it was as cute as it was delicious. I also took a chance on the ¡°Ichigo Boba Tea¡± and that turned out to be a sugary strawberry drink. Nathan opted for expensive sushi rolls. Nancy settled on a basic stir-fry. When we¡¯d emptied our plates, I pulled Nathan¡¯s present out of my purse.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± he asked once he¡¯d torn off all the wrapping.


    ¡°It¡¯s a video game,¡± I said. Nathan gave me a blank look.


    ¡°Duh, it¡¯s a video game. Why did you get me a random game?¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that the flying game you played at Lars Dawson¡¯s house that you always wanted to find?¡± asked Nancy.


    Nathan squinted at the box. Something clicked and his eyes widened.


    ¡°ARE YOU SHITTING ME!? YOU FIGURED OUT WHAT GAME IT WAS OFF OF MY SHITTY DRAWING!?¡±


    ¡°Nathan!¡± Nancy snapped. ¡°Don¡¯t use that kind of language! Ladies don¡¯t like it!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s technically an adult now,¡± I said. ¡°So he can say whatever he wants.¡±


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t like it,¡± said Nancy.


    ¡°Aunt Liz, how did you know what game it was?¡± Nathan was almost bouncing up and down in his chair. ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to track it down for five years!¡±


    ¡°I had a lot of help from a big guy named Mac at Dragon¡¯s Den Gaming. I¡¯ll take you some time.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe¡­! I never thought¡­! Thanks, Aunt Liz!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, Nathan.¡± I stretched my arms and leaned back in my chair, then yelped as a tangle of yellow tentacles appeared in the edges of my vision.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Lizzie!?¡± asked Nancy. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Octopus¡­¡± was all I could manage. I turned and pointed to the character on the wall above me, a happy octopus with an O-shaped mouth and a different flavored ice cream cone in each tentacle.


    ¡°You just noticed that? It¡¯s been behind you the whole time,¡± said Nancy.


    ¡°Are you afraid of octopuses, Aunt Liz?¡± asked Nathan.


    ¡°No!¡± I said. ¡°I just wasn¡¯t expecting to see one here.¡±


    ¡°If I remember right, you fight octopuses in this game,¡± Nathan said, holding up the Eagle¡¯s Quarry box.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure Aunt Liz would LOVE to see your game, wouldn¡¯t you, Lizzie?¡± Nancy gave me a cheeky look. ¡°She even bought a ¡®Fantalo-Megalo System¡¯ for herself.¡±


    ¡°Wait, you bought a FantaMeg?¡± Nathan asked. My fingers curled around the side of the chair. I wasn¡¯t sure I wanted anything more to do with Eagle¡¯s Quarry.


    ¡°Uh, well¡­¡±


    You¡¯re being dumb, Liz, I told myself. It¡¯s just a game. Watch him play it. You¡¯ll see.


    And you¡¯ll figure out what your dream meant, too. Strange thoughts had crept into my mind. Embrace the calling!


    Embrace what calling? I asked myself. You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about, brain.


    The answer just might be right behind you, my thoughts said. A tingle ran up my spine.


    That does it.


    ¡°I did buy a FantastiMega 3000,¡± I admitted. There was no sense in hiding all of the truth. If I lied about it, Nancy would show him the photo of my FantastiMega system on her phone. ¡°I wanted to try out the game, but I couldn¡¯t figure out what to do.¡±


    ¡°Never thought I¡¯d see you pick up a video game,¡± Nathan said.


    ¡°Lizzie does things that even surprise herself,¡± Nancy chuckled. ¡°Sometimes you can¡¯t tell what she¡¯s up to. Like when she came home one day with that big bag of beads and string, I had no idea what was going on in her little head! And then she ended up with her whole bedroom ceiling covered in those bead curtains.¡±


    ¡°Why do you always bring up my bead curtains?¡± I asked.


    ¡°They¡¯re neat, Lizzie! I almost want the same thing in my room, but it wouldn¡¯t coordinate with the rest of my d¨¦cor.¡±


    ¡°I offered to make you some in the same green as your bedsheets. You said they weren¡¯t that great.¡±


    ¡°I might¡¯ve lied a little,¡± Nancy said. Her eyes drifted to the left like they always did when she was embarrassed.


    ¡°What was it about Eagle¡¯s Quarry that made you want to play it?¡± Nathan had brought the conversation back to the game. Now it was my turn to lie a little.


    ¡°You were looking for it for a long time, so I figured it was really good,¡± I said. ¡°And the characters looked interesting.¡± Okay, that part wasn¡¯t exactly untrue¡­


    ¡°Really?¡± Nathan looked suspicious. ¡°I think the box art is kinda ugly. Looks like they just slapped on the main characters and some evil guy.¡±


    ¡°I can take the game back if you don¡¯t want it,¡± I said.


    ¡°No! Bad box art doesn¡¯t mean the game¡¯s gonna be bad!¡± Nathan said. ¡°We¡¯re good, we¡¯re good!¡±


    I leaned back in my chair until I could see most of the yellow octopus.


    I¡¯m gonna shut you the fuck up, I thought.