Jesse nodded, relaxing slightly, taking a step forward. “You should get a Homerun Bear,” he said seriously.
The boy laughed again. “Thought about it, but Pink Poodle has all the stats, and I don’t wanna give ’em up.” Boy stuck out his hand. “Barry. You?”
“Um…Jesse. Jesse Germaine.”
“Nice bear. What happened to him?”
Jesse held up his bandaged bear self-consciously. “Oh, um…he’s a zombie now. A homerun hitter, back from the dead.” The words felt lame the moment he said them, but the boy, Barry, laughed again.
“That’s pretty cool. Maybe I could zombie-ize Pink Poodle, too. That’d be at least a little cooler than being a sixteen-year-old boy with a pink pooch.”
“Are you playing a game now?” Jesse asked, venturing closer.
“Yep. Helmet Hippo was just online. He’s my nemesis, you know. Has one thousand and five hundred points more than me. But I’m improving my game all the time, so I’m thinking in the next month, I’ll close that gap. Pass the fucker.”
Jesse gaped for a second, caught off guard by the swear word. Then he closed his mouth, forced himself to appear relaxed again. Barry was sixteen. Sixteen-year-old boys could use those kinds of words. Jesse could use those kinds of words. He glanced around. As long as his mother never heard him.
“Are you playing baseball?” Jesse asked, standing behind Barry’s shoulder, peering at the monitor.
“Yep, seventh inning, at bat, two outs. Got Slimey Slug on my team.”
“Sorry,” Jesse said.
“Exactly. Not going well. Will take a miracle to get up to bat again.”
“Oh.” Jesse was disappointed. He wanted to learn to hit the curveball.
Barry seemed to understand. “Want to play? Come on, grab a chair. We’ll log on your bear and I’ll show you some things to do.”
Jesse scrambled to find an empty chair. He pulled it up close to Barry, shoulder to shoulder so they could both see the monitor. Then he carefully placed Zombie Bear next to Pink Poodle on the tabletop. He thought they looked good together.
Jesse glanced at his watch, realized it had been well over fifteen minutes. “I’ll be right back,” he said. Before Barry could respond, he bolted to his mother’s section, where he found her hunched over a giant book, brow furrowed as she flipped pages. Jesse exclaimed in a rush, “Sorry I’m late working with the librarian to find a new series to read can I have fifteen more minutes please?”
“What?” his mother stared up at him.
“Librarian. Helping me. Gonna find a new series to read.”
“Okay. But not too much longer. Get the first book of the series, bring it here, please.”
“’Kay.”
Jesse breathed deep, glanced at his watch again, and bolted back downstairs, where Barry had already logged off Pink Poodle and was clearly waiting for him.
“Just needed to check in,” Jesse said without thinking.
“Check in?”
Jesse’s cheeks turned pink. “My mom,” he mumbled. “She’s doing research.”
“Okay,” Barry said, like it was no big deal. He asked Jesse his password, logged in Zombie Bear, then they were off and running. Barry used the keyboard first, showing Jesse what to do. Then Jesse would use the arrow keys and try to replicate. Sometimes, the moves were too fast. Then Barry would place his hand over Jesse’s and show him which arrow—right, left, up, or down—to hit faster. Like left, left, left, down, right.
When Jesse made a hit, Barry cheered, his voice low so others wouldn’t shush them. When he missed, Barry would mutter stuff like “Fucker,” “Shit,” “Shit on a stick,” in an even lower voice, and Jesse would giggle because he’d never heard “Shit on a stick” before and the more he thought about it, the funnier it sounded.
Then Barry’s pocket started to chime. “Jesus H. Christ,” the boy said, and Jesse’s eyes rounded into saucers.
Barry fumbled with his pocket, pulled out a phone. “Gotta go,” the older boy said.