SmallvilleGuy: Fine, like you.
The shakiness in my fingers transformed. They continued to tremble, but the cause shifted. It no longer came from feeling like I’d been shot and then tossed out of an airplane without a parachute.
SkepticGirl1: I am not fine.
SkepticGirl1: I am too angry to be fine. If the Warheads think they’re getting away with whatever they’re up to, they have another thing coming.
SmallvilleGuy: Lois . . . Don’t do anything rash.
I almost typed back Rash is my middle name, but that would only worry him. Tonight’s reminder that if he had needed my help in the game or outside it, I would have been powerless to do anything about it was not welcome. It wasn’t like I could travel to Smallville and go around to all the farms trying to see which cute little calf answered to Nellie Bly. I wanted to be the kind of friend who was always there when needed, who always had the other person’s back—and if I was being honest, I especially wanted to always have his.
I balled my fingers into frustrated fists, and then unclenched them. Tradition was tradition. I would end tonight the same way as usual, before I said something that would embarrass me later.
SkepticGirl1: You going to tell me who you are?
I waited.
The chat window told me that he was typing, then typing some more. I sighed.
SkepticGirl1: It’s okay. Chat with you tomorrow.
I closed the laptop before I could see his next message.
“Good thing it wasn’t a first date,” I said quietly.
Because, if it had been, it would have been a complete and epic disaster.
He protected you. You wanted to protect him. Don’t be too mad.
But I was. Just not at him.
I thought I would have trouble sleeping, but once the adrenaline faded, it came easily. For a few hours, anyway.
I woke up in the middle of the night from a bad dream featuring a circle of black-clad commandos who were pointing weapons at me as I lay prone on the ground.
But it wasn’t the dream threat that worried me. I turned over, clutching a pillow against my stomach, obsessing over the abrupt way I’d left the chat with SmallvilleGuy. I shouldn’t have shut the conversation down like that on him, angry and frustrated or not.
But I understood something suddenly. It hit me like a lightning strike, and I sat up in bed. I realized why I should have stuck it out, talked about what was bothering me with him. Why I was so sure that he would know exactly what I meant about never wanting to let someone else down.
The two of us were alike. We wouldn’t stand by and watch, not when we could act instead.
*
But I was still angry the next morning, stalking through the halls on the way to second period. I wouldn’t feel better until I got back at the jerky Warheads and figured out what they were up to and why they could do the odd things they could outside the game.
And until I helped Anavi like I’d promised. That was priority one.
Devin was waiting when I got to class, and had saved me a seat again. “How did it go last night?” he asked.
After considering several responses, I finally went with, “Doesn’t his highness get a full report from the Daily Dragon Planet or something when the cock croweth in the Kingdom of Devin?”
“It’s the Realm of Ye Old Troy,” he said, studying the keyboard in front of him. “You should’ve let me go in with you.”
“You do have a very nice castle. But we made it out without too much trouble.”
Anavi walked into the classroom, and I immediately regretted what I had said. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles. She came directly to us, taking the seat beside me.
“I’m sorry I just left you there.” Her hands were balled in her lap. “I shouldn’t have.”
“You did exactly what you said you would. I was hoping you got out without any pain or problems. What’s wrong?”
Anavi was subdued. “It’s not the game.” She gave her head a little shake, like there was water in her ears.
Or bad guys in her head. They clearly weren’t giving up. “They’re bothering you again here?” I asked.
Anavi nodded absently and turned, her eyes locking on the door seconds before the Warheads came through it.
“It’s getting worse,” she said.
She turned back around and stared down at her hands, twisting them together on the tabletop. I wished I had her grenade belt or SmallvilleGuy’s laser eyebeams to direct at the smirking Warheads.
They arrayed themselves at workstations along the other side of the table from me and Devin and Anavi, sitting down at the same time, like they were one person. Then they started their taunts, putting some sing-song into them.
“Hope no one’s got . . .”
“. . . heartburn.”
“Or was it the shoulder?”
“We figured out . . .”
“. . . that Anavi’s only got one friend.”
“Besides us.”
“We’d be much better friends, Anavi.”