Drawing Amanda (5 page)

Before Inky could finish typing, more chat appeared on his screen.

Megaland:
Not only am I developing a game
,
I want kids like you involved in every stage and some especially talented kids will get to work directly with me one-on-one.

Inky leaned forward, as if getting closer to his computer screen would make the words come faster. He felt the stirrings of genuine enthusiasm.

Megaland:
Plus I plan to give kids credit for their initial efforts and then a share of the profits – which there will be. I was successful before and I will be again. There are enough car crash, shoot ‘em up and take ‘em hostage games for boys. I want to use your special skills to create the kind of scenarios that will get girls excited.

Inky was sorry to see the last bit of text. A game for girls—something else that he wasn’t a part of. Damn. But then he was never looking to play the game, anyway. He just wanted to draw for it. He thought a moment before he typed.

Picasso2B:
I’m not a girl, but I can draw things that girls like. Maybe I can draw something for you.

Swamp green desire bubbled up in him. The cursor blinked. It seemed forever before the response came.

Megaland:
Well, maybe you can Picasso2B. I think I can find a special place for you here in Megaland.

Chapter 8

Loaded with Audacity

H
OW APPROPRIATE, RUNGS THOUGHT
as he walked towards the school gym. The recording software he was using was called Audacity. Already by the lockers he’d captured some priceless bits of that annoying Ellen Monahan saying, “Hello, Hello,” and Sven saying, “Dork.” During class he’d recorded several Mr. Lorenza-isms, including his signature condescension, “Shall we?” Oh, we shall. Rungs smiled at his plan.

A couple of the Soccer Boys in their shorts and shin guards nodded to him in the hall, apparently giving no thought as to why he was hanging out by afterschool soccer practice. Rungs was used to that. His classmates gave him berth like they would a big dog; respect laced with fear. Yes, he was tall and in shape, but it was more than a physical thing. His beliefs were like a protective force field around him. Beliefs that were age old and not to be tampered with, especially not by some high school teacher who should know better.

He turned on his recorder. The soccer players’ grunts would be useful. The coach was having the team do pushups and crunches, mild compared to his morning Muay Thai workout. Demos finished first and pounded his chest, apelike. “Loser,” he said to one of his struggling teammates. That was a keeper.

Rungs moved on to the music room. Again it was like he was invisible, hiding in plain sight. He stood in the back and let his recorder capture the sounds of the band tuning up. He walked through the music practice rooms and recorded a host of sour notes on different instruments, including a badly played euphonium, which sounded like an elephant fart. Perfect.

He paused outside of one practice room to listen to a senior girl he didn’t know practicing for a recital. It was too beautiful for his purposes, but he kept taping anyway. The cello was almost as big as the girl playing it, but her notes were huge—mournful and magical. It stirred a longing in him. He missed his mother and Apsara and the ways of his village in Thailand. But as he listened to the Western melody, he also felt he might find a truly American place where he belonged.

When she finished her piece, he bowed to her and then headed home to edit his sounds.

Chapter 9

Amanda Builds Her World

“B
RILLO-HEAD
, B
RILLO-HEAD
,” echoed in Amanda’s brain.
Vache.
That Ellen Monahan was so horrible. This week was going no better than last.

At least she’d learned a couple of tricks from all their moving around. After dinner she unpacked the almond oil and rubbed it into her hair. The wild, dry ends did feel like a scouring pad. She twisted her brown mass of hair into a bun and wrapped a pair of her mother’s torn stockings around it the way their Indonesian housekeeper had shown her.

Now to keep her head relatively still for twenty minutes. She set the Dali clock timer they’d picked up in Spain and signed on to Megaland. The screen was static for a moment as it loaded. The welcome screen teased about a new feature, “pop quiz.” She settled into her chair and the chat box eventually popped up.

Megaland:
Welcome back, Justagirl. I’ve made quite a bit of progress – there’s a whole section called pop quiz. Your user-testing will be invaluable. As you take the quizzes, please ask yourself, is this a fun quiz to take? Would you recommend it? Did you learn something about yourself? Does that sound like something you can do?

Justagirl:
yes

Megaland:
Also, think about the premise of the game. Players complete activities to get the things they want – beautiful clothes, invites to movie premieres and fun parties, and ultimately, the pick of a dream date . . . Are you ready?

Justagirl:
Sure

The text box minimized and a screen replete with quizzes popped up:

What kind of dog are you?

What type of music are you?

What city are you most like?

What’s your dream guy type?

Sunset or moonlight?

Ooh, Amanda thought, it sounds like a magazine. How she loved magazines. So far, the best thing about being in New York was the Universal News shop down her street jam-packed with magazines, current ones, more magazines than Amanda had ever seen in one place. Reading them online was just not the same. In Nairobi, Amanda and her mother practically memorized their months-old copies of
Glamour
and
InStyle
.

Amanda clicked on “What kind of dog are you?” because it was the first one. Perhaps she’d do them all. The quiz came up on her screen.

Which best describes you?

Bubbly

Shy

Sophisticated

Quirky

Amanda chose “Shy” and read the next question:

What is your favorite thing to do on a rainy day?

Walk in the rain

Go to the movies with friends

Bake cookies

Play games with family

Amanda hesitated. All her life she’d loved nothing more than playing games with her brothers. When they were stationed someplace remote, which was most of the time, games were their only amusement. Of course that was different now. Amanda was not ready to accept that change, and checked “Play games with family.”

Choose your favorite:

Birthday cake

Sorbet

Ice cream sundae

Cookies

Well, birthday cake made her cringe, those too-sweet sugar flowers and everyone looking at her. Amanda chose “Ice cream sundae.”

What kind of shopper are you?

Pick and click
– online shopper

Megabrowser
- visit every store in the mall

Try, try again
– bring a gazillion things into the dressing room

Shopping??

Amanda laughed as she pictured the makeshift curtain you could change behind in the Nairobi market. Might as well strip before the whole town. “Shopping??” it was.

What do you first notice in a guy?

His looks

His clothes

His friendly smile

His eyes

Amanda quickly checked off the box with the word friendly. When they were in Indonesia, Derek had a Canadian girlfriend who told her all about kissing and boys. It would be fun to have a boyfriend, but she’d decided they’d have to be friends first.

Click for your evaluation.

Amanda clicked and waited for her answers, although she already knew what kind of dog she was—lost, stray.

She breathed in the deeply scented oil from her hair and looked at her not-quite olive skin, the darker side of her mother’s mixed heritage. Maybe mongrel would be a better choice.

A happy puppy popped up on screen; its wagging tail made her smile.

You’re a West Highland Terrier – charming, stubborn and unexpectedly brave. You’re shy and have a high need for affection. When you get it, you are loyal and obedient.

That text faded and a new screen appeared.

Congratulations. You successfully completed a pop quiz. You may advance to the next level. You may collect a shoe.

The cursor blinked in the textbox on the bottom of her screen.

Megaland:
Do you like it? Was that fun?

Justagirl:
yes – kind of like a magazine or like that site, Quizilla, or something you’d ask on Formspring. But I never thought of myself as a white-haired dog.

Megaland:
You have dark hair?

Justagirl
: very

Megaland:
Do you have short legs like a Westie?

Justagirl
: hardly. They called me spider legs in school.

Megaland:
That sounds mean.

Justagirl
: It gets worse

Megaland:
Sounds like they’re jealous of your assets.

That made Amanda giggle.

Justagirl
: DK. My asset is pretty flat.

Megaland:
Very clever, Justagirl. Lmao.

Megaland:
What other quizzes would you add? The goal is to get a whole outfit and go on a date. Do you think that’s the kind of thing girls want?

She thought of Ellen Monahan and the Sacred Circle girls. They were always talking about what to wear to their parties.

Justagirl:
definitely

The timer she’d set earlier went off.

Justagirl:
Gtg. I’ll look at some magazines for quiz ideas for you.

She was anxious to rinse her hair and have it sleek and shiny. Maybe she’d wear a short skirt tomorrow to show off her long legs.

Chapter 10

Inky’s Drawing Assignment

T
HE COLORS WERE A MASH ON THE PAGE
—dark mustard, soft pumpkin, chili pepper red—as Inky attempted a design like an Aboriginal Dreaming for his core project assignment. It had worked for the school lobby; the new mural on the front wall of school had been his idea as a replacement to the so-last-century portraits of diplomats (now housed in an important closet at the UN).

Inky had envisioned it as a modern take on a Dreaming—a graphic story map of intersecting lives and places. Each day after school, his friends had sprawled out on the lobby floor, legs entangled, careful not to spill the paint palettes or Chinese takeout as they colored the lines and swirls meant to illustrate their hopes and dreams. Everyone got involved, even the soccer team, who got the concept once he explained it as “life’s playbook” to them.

They’d finished it moments before the start of their middle school spring break, hours before Inky’s night flight to Rio. The breeze had mingled with the smell of paint and promise.

Now each time he entered school, the mural taunted him. The rainbow bright colors he’d picked to symbolize a world of possibility were too sharp. Garish. The colors of before.

Inky balled up the paper and tossed it across the room. He opened up a document to try to make some notes, but instead logged on to Megaland. In just a few seconds the chat box opened up, making Inky think of those annoying live help features that sometimes popped up when you were looking at electronics online. Only this time he wanted to talk.

Megaland:
Picasso2B, you’ve returned to Megaland. Welcome back.

Picasso2B:
Tnx

Megaland:
Would you like to see the pop quiz section? I’m told it is reminiscent of Quizilla, which I think is good.

Picasso2B
: Is that the game – a lot of quizzes?

Megaland:
That’s the part available for testing today.

Picasso2B:
What’s the point?

Megaland:
Entertainment. Escape. Why do you play games?

Picasso2B:
Same. How do you win?

Megaland:
Complete the quizzes and games.

Picasso2B
: What do they win?

Megaland
: All the trappings of fame and fortune – cool clothes, hot dates.

Picasso2B:
How?

Megaland:
Complete the quizzes and games.

Picasso2B:
Right. Got that. But how do you show it?

Megaland:
I see. I see what you are after, Picasso2B. That’s an element of the game I’m still working on, the graphic presentation.

Inky paused before he typed. Perfect. Sounds like there’s plenty of opportunity for me.

Picasso2B:
Can I help? Can I draw something?

Megaland:
Can you? What kinds of things do you draw? Cartoons? Manga?

Picasso2B:
Used to.

Megaland:
And now?

Picasso2B:
Darker stuff.

Inky caught himself; he’d best talk about skills, not tone.

Picasso2B:
I’m strong with figures and perspective.

Megaland:
So you’re versatile. You must be very talented. Why the dark stuff?

Inky leaned back in his chair. How much did he want to share in an online convo with a stranger? But before he had a chance to look deep inside, he was typing. It was weird, but he was more comfortable with this Megaland guy than he’d been with anyone in ages.

Picasso2B:
Everything changed when my father died. Quit the school paper. Quit everything really. It was like the light went out.

Megaland:
Must be hard for you. How long ago?

Picasso2B:
17 months.

Megaland:
That’s like yesterday.

Thank you, Inky thought. Finally someone who isn’t saying that I should get over it already.

Picasso2B:
All I hear is it’s time to move on.

Megaland:
Some things you never get over.

Picasso2B:
Especially when it’s your fault.

Megaland:
Sounds like you’re blaming yourself.

Picasso2B:
Can’t help it. If he didn’t care so much about my damn birthday he would have never been on that plane.

Megaland:
Don’t be so hard on yourself.

Picasso2B:
I know he would have waited until the fog cleared. We had another week in Rio, he didn’t have to rush.