Gamer Girl (16 page)

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"Sorry,"
I said, not wanting to explain. "I'm back."

"So,
Maddy," Ms. Reilly addressed me, "I was just telling
everyone how well you draw and now they all want to see some of your
work."

I looked across
the table. Sure enough, six eager faces peered back at me. Feeling
self-conscious, I reached into my bag and pulled out my portfolio.

"I'm
creating a new manga," I explained, pulling out a few sketches
and laying them down on the table. "So I can enter this
contest."

"What's it
about?"

I explained
about Allora getting sucked in to the computer and questing with her
handsome hero to find a way back home. "Once she's home, she
retains all of her character's powers," I added. "And she's
able to smack down all the bullies that used to pick on her, and able
to turn the school cliques upside down. She goes from a freak girl .
. ."--I held out drawing number one--"to a gamer girl."
I held up the still unfinished final drawing of Allora. "Which
is what I'm calling the book. As you can see, it's not quite done
yet."

"Wow,
that's so cool," remarked Ed, picking up one of the drawings.
"You're really good."

"Totally,"
agreed David. "I love this one with her kicking Willy's butt
here. Hmm, I wonder who you based him on."

I grinned
sheepishly. Everyone laughed.

"You
should make him a little fatter," suggested Luke.

"And a lot
uglier," added Sarah.

"Maddy,
these are so awesome!" Jessie blurted out, flipping

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through the
sketches. "It's so great you can draw. I can't draw to save
myself. I love to read manga but I think it'd be the absolute coolest
thing ever to draw it. Not that I'll ever be able to. But you can!
How cool is that?"

The others
laughed at her rambling, but not in a mean-spirited way. Soon she was
giggling along with them.

"Well,
maybe next week Maddy can give us a little demo," Ms. Reilly
suggested. "Teach us all the basics."

A chorus of
enthusiasm followed her suggestion. I smiled. How fun would that be?
To teach others the art I loved so much. Finally have people
appreciate me for what I could do.

Ms. Reilly
announced it was time to watch the movie and pressed Play on the DVD
player. For the rest of the session we watched
.hack//SIGN,
which really did remind me of Fields of Fantasy quite a bit. When it
was over, we got up and headed to the exit together, still bantering
over the finer points of the episode as we walked down the halls and
out the front doors of the school, vowing to meet up again next week.

I got on the
late bus and sat down in the back, feeling warm and fuzzy inside. I'd
met new people who were cool and nice and didn't consider me a freak.
And better still, I'd been able to share my passion with them and
they actually understood why it was a big deal.

This was,
without a doubt, the best school day yet.

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CHAPTER 15

W hat's wrong
with you?" my mother asked when I got home.

"Huh? What
do you mean?"

"You're .
. . you're . . . well, honey, you're smiling."

I laughed. "Ah.
Sorry. I didn't realize I was. I can stop if it bothers you."

"Bothers
me? Are you kidding? You have a beautiful smile. I just don't get to
see it that often." Mom reached over and gave me a tight
squeeze. I hugged her back.

"You're
hugging? Since when do you two hug?" Emily asked, staring at us,
hands on her hips.

I released Mom
from the embrace. "Hey, Emily, want to show me your dance
routines?"

The
eight-year-old glared at me suspiciously. "You know, I saw a
movie like this once," she determined. "Mom, I don't know
how to tell you this, but I think Maddy has been taken over by pod
people."

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I rolled my
eyes. "Come on, guys, it's not that weird, is it?" Had I
really been such a miserable bitch all this time that one smile threw
them for such a loop?

"Emily,
where did you see a movie about pod people?" Mom demanded.

"Over at
Dad's."

"Of course
you did." Mom's happy face faded and she suddenly looked old.
"Why did I even have to ask?"

"It was
the 1994 remake, actually. Not the original," Emily provided
helpfully.

"Yes, the
R-rated one that's not appropriate for eight-year-olds. I figured as
much."

Emily shrugged.

Mom turned and
headed for the kitchen, shaking her head and muttering something
about Dad's lack of ability to set appropriate boundaries for his
children.

My upbeat mood
dampened as I watched her go. "Nice one," I muttered to
Emily, shaking my head.

"Whatever."

I held up my
hands. "Fine," I said. "After all, I'm not the one
always trying to get Mom and Dad back together."

"You
honestly think Mom and Dad are going to get back together?"
Emily rolled her blue eyes, having obviously faced reality finally. I
didn't know whether to be relieved or sad or .. . "You must be
smokin' something really good, is all I can say."

... or
horrified. I stared at her. "Where do you hear these

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things?" I
demanded, crossing my fingers that this time she wouldn't say at
Dad's. At least not loud enough for Mom to hear.

"At
school. We're a very advanced class."

"That's
one word for it. Another would be--"

"So you
gonna watch my dance routine or what?" She looked up at me
expectantly, her cupid bow mouth pursed as she waited for my answer.

I groaned. "As
if you're really giving me a choice in the matter."

"Cool.
Let's go outside." Emily dived to the hall closet in search of
shoes. I glanced out the window.

"Um, it's
raining," I noted. "Too bad. Guess you'll have to show me
another time."

"What are
you, the Wicked Witch of the West? Afraid you'll melt?"

"Right.
Something like that. Without the green face paint."

"Oh, fine.
You just don't want to see my routine." Emily pouted.

Sigh. "I
asked to, didn't I?" I reminded her. "Let's just do it in
the living room so I can watch from the couch."

Emily scrunched
up her face. "Grandma doesn't want me to dance in there."

Of course she
didn't. Not in the unicorn museum. I peered out the window. Rain was
gushing down in torrents. "Well, I don't think Grandma's home,"
I told her. "Just be careful and I'm sure you'll be fine."
I felt kind of guilty going against

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Grandma's
rules, but at the same time I was so not in the mood to get soaked.

Emily thought
it over for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," she said. "Let
me go change into my costume."

"You don't
have to ..." I tried, but she was already gone. Sigh. Stupid me
for bringing it up. Now I'd probably be stuck through an
hour-and-a-half routine, complete with special effects and multiple
costume changes. I reluctantly headed into the living room and
plopped down on the couch. It was one of those antique Victorian ones
that looked fancy but was totally uncomfortable to sit in. Meanwhile,
our smooshy comfy couch and chairs sat gathering dust in a storage
locker down the street.

Emily popped
into the room a minute later, dressed in a tight half shirt and
glitter miniskirt. She'd smeared turquoise eye shadow over her lids
and a disturbing amount of blush on her cheeks, making her look like
a midget drag queen.

"Ta-da!"
she cried, striking a pose.

"That's
your costume?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Umm,
yeah," she said, her voice thick with scorn. "What did you
expect, a tutu or something?"

"You're
eight years old. It seems a reasonable assumption." She struck a
pose, very Paris Hiltonesque. "Do you want to see me dance or
not?"

I pulled my
feet up and under me, waving a hand for her to go on. She dropped
character to drag the coffee table to the side of the room and widen
her dance space. Then she hit the power button on Grandma's
antiquated stereo system (it even

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had a record
player!) and spun the dial for maximum volume. A moment later my poor
eardrums were bombarded with the sounds of Jessica Simpson.

My sister
whirled around the room, like Britney Spears, pre-rehab, jumping and
twirling and dropping into splits. She was way into it, so
unconscious of how bad she was and how silly she looked. I forced
back my laughter.

"Brava!"
I clapped as the first song ended. "Encore, encore!" Not
that I especially wanted to sit through a second round, mind you, but
it seemed the right thing to do.

Sure enough,
she beamed at me, suddenly a little kid again. Gone was the jaded,
world-weary girl she tried to portray on a daily basis. It was nice
to see.

She reset the
music and whirled around again, this time faster and more
energetically--as if she were one of those whirling dervishes. She
spun and she spun and I wondered how she didn't get dizzy and just--

Crash!

I cringed as
Emily lost her balance and slammed right into Grandma's curio cabinet
of porcelain monstrosities. The smashing of glass as the shelves came
down was so loud it actually drowned out Jessica Simpson.

Not good. So
not good.

"What is
going on here?"

Even worse?
Grandma just got home.

She entered the
room, wearing a bright yellow raincoat, her watery blue eyes widening
as she surveyed the destruction of all she held dear. Emily was in
the process of trying to

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extract herself
from the broken glass without cutting herself. Her face was red from
dancing and tears were dripping down her cheeks.

In the
background, Jessica crooned on about ditching some guy who may or may
not have been Nick Lachey.

"My
babies!" Grandma exclaimed, dropping to her knees and searching
through the rubble for survivors. "My babies!"

Emily managed
to stand up. "Sorry," she said. "I, um, slipped."

"What's
going on here?" Mom burst into the room. She switched off the
music and the room fell eerily silent.

"My
babies!" Grandma repeated for the third time. I gritted my
teeth. Yes, we got that already.

Emily retreated
to the couch and snuggled up to me, as if trying to shield herself
from the coming wrath. Good luck with that, kid.

"Mother,
get up. I don't want you to cut yourself," Mom commanded. She
helped Grandma to her feet and led her over to her rocking char.
"I'll get your babies, don't worry."

Grandma allowed
herself to be seated in the chair, fingering one of the glass horses
she'd salvaged. "My babies," she muttered to herself.

Mom turned to
us.

"Emily,
you've been told you're not allowed to dance in the house," she
scolded.

I waited for my
sister to sell me out, but she surprisingly remained silent. I
realized it was up to me to come clean.

"I told
her to, Mom," I said. "It's my fault."

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Mom released a
long sigh, as if weary of the world. Maybe she was. She ran a hand
through her hair and for the first time I realized she had some grays
woven in with the brown.

"I think
it's time you go upstairs to work on your homework," she said,
sounding drained.

"I can
help ..." I tried, feeling really bad all of a sudden. Grandma
looked so distraught. Emily was crying. Mom was furious.

And once again,
it was all my fault. So much for best day ever.

"I think
you've done enough," Mom replied in a tight voice. "I'll
take care of this. Just go upstairs. You, too, Emily."

I took my
sister's hand and led her out of the room and up the stairs. Crazy
how I'd gone from being in a great mood to being miserable all over
again. It just proved my point. We couldn't stay here much longer. It
wasn't healthy for Emily. And it certainly wasn't good for me.

I sat Emily in
front of the computer and let her surf the Disney website while I
spread the drawings out on my desk and began to pencil in a new
scene. I sketched Allora and Sir Leo, resting by the cascading
waterfall, just as we had done the night before in real--make that
virtual--life. But instead of being content in Allora's arms, Sir Leo
looked worried.

"So now
what?"
he asked, turning to Allora.
"You've got the
potion you need to go home. Will you take me with you?"

Allora shook
her head.
"You belong here in this fantasy world. You have no
place on Earth. You'd hate it there."

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Sir Leo looked
crushed.
"I wouldn't hate it if you were there. I don't want
to lose you. We could make it work between us. It doesn't have to
stop here."

Allora sighed
deeply.
"I don't know,"
she said.
"I'm not
sure you would like me in real life. I'm a lot different there, you
know. I don't even look the same."

"I
don't care if you look like an ugly troll with warts,"
Sir
Leo declared, taking her hand in his.
"I love you."

I set down my
pen and sighed. Obviously real life was once again popping up in my
manga. I guess it was good, in a way. It certainly gave a more
emotional feel to the book. At the same time, it was no longer a
blissful escape from my day-to-day problems.

I wistfully
traced my finger along my drawing of Sir Leo. What was he like in
real life? I was dying to know. Was it worth the risk meeting him?
Knowing that a real-life encounter could end our online friendship
forever?

I glanced over
at the computer. Emily had evidently gotten bored and had climbed
onto my bed and fallen asleep. Currently snoring like a trooper.
Maybe I'd sign in to Fields of Fantasy to see if he was online. I
missed him badly and wanted nothing more than to hang out with him
and play the game. Lose myself in the virtual world for a few hours.