My Life as a Gamer Page 3

  “She was TOTALLY talking to me,” I tell Carly after class.

  “You’re not the only kid who skateboards and plays video games. Besides, you don’t take music lessons; I do.” Carly suddenly seems worried. “Do you think Ms. McCoddle was talking about ME?”

  “All I know is that these tests are NOT getting in the way of Arctic Ninja.”

  Carly scoots in front of me to get my full attention. “I know how hard studying is for you, but you’re really going to have to buckle down.”

  “You sound like my mother. Cut it out!” I look around for Matt and Umberto to save me from Carly’s good intentions. Unfortunately my friends who AREN’T obsessed with schoolwork are nowhere to be found.

  Carly finally lets me off the hook. “I can help you!” she calls down the hall.

  Friend or no friend, the last thing I need is help from a smarty-pants like Carly.

  My Kind of Studying

  Umberto and Matt come over after school to strategize. Not about the state tests—DUH!—but about Arctic Ninja.

  I feel bad for not inviting Carly, but after her nagging today, I think we might have more fun without her.

  “Okay,” Umberto starts. “If they brought El Cid to test this new game and El Cid is the top PlayStation player in the world, then maybe we should start with some PlayStation games in case there are similarities.”

  It’s a good observation; I can tell Umberto’s given this a lot of thought.

  I pull out the controllers from the basket under the TV. It’s almost as if turning on the television makes my mother magically appear.

  “When you said you were working today, I thought you meant on homework,” she says.

  “We ARE,” I lie. “But we’re warming up with video games first. Like stretching before a run.”

  Mom seems amused. “Do you think playing video games will warm up your muscles for the language arts or math parts of the test?”

  “Definitely math,” Matt answers. “There are so many studies about math skills improving when kids play video games.”

  My mom’s almost laughing now. “I didn’t realize you read a lot of scientific studies, Matt. I’d love to see some of them.”

  “I’ll email them to Derek,” Matt says. “I think you’ll find them interesting.”

  I give my mother a You-Can-Go-Now face, but she sits on the edge of the couch in no hurry to leave. Where’s a sick ferret in need of deworming when you need one?

  “Let’s see … the last study about video games I read had to do with childhood obesity.” My mother has no intention of letting the subject drop. “In fact, I even read an article about a boy who sat in the same position for so long playing video games that he died of an embolism.”

  “MOM! Stop trying to scare us! We’re not going to die playing video games.”

  After I beg my mother fifty times to leave, she finally does. It takes Umberto, Matt, and me several minutes on the Internet to find out that an embolism is a blood clot.

  “If I haven’t gotten one in this wheelchair, I probably won’t get one playing video games,” Umberto says.

  I assure him no one’s getting any blood clots today.

  “Well, your mom certainly threw a wet blanket on any kind of fun,” Matt says. “Maybe we SHOULD just study.”

  “The only thing we’re studying for is kicking butt on Arctic Ninja. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  We play our favorite games for the next three hours. (I kill them both in Madden and FIFA, then get killed in Crash Bandicoot.)

  It might sound superstitious, but after my mom’s comment, I make sure we get up and move every twenty minutes.

  Just in case.

  Someone Else Wants to Play

  My mom remains a buzzkill for most of the day, but after my friends leave, Dad sits next to me on the couch and picks up a controller to my Wii U.

  “Is this Arctic Ninja?” he asks.

  Poor Dad, so clueless in the world of video games. I explain that of COURSE Global Games won’t let us take the new game home; it’s a top secret prototype that can’t leave the building.

  “I was KIDDING,” he says. “I know how much these companies guard their new products. So which game is this?” He points to the graphics on the TV.

  “It’s the new Mario Kart game I’m going to annihilate you in.” I set the game for two players and hit PLAY.

  It takes some time for Dad to get the hang of it, but after a while, he actually makes a pretty good opponent.

  “So, we’re trying to keep winning races and collecting shells, right?” My dad’s beard is patchy, and he’s still wearing his sweatpants from working out this morning. It’s almost as if he’s resigned himself to being home all day. His wallpapering and baking activities have tapered off, and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.

  “I may not be able to beat you,” Dad says. “But at least let me beat the computer.”

  I’ve been trying to get Dad to play video games with me for years, and I can count the times he has on one hand. So spending the next hour beating him in Mario feels pretty great. We only stop playing when Mom drags us away for dinner.

  Dad tousles my hair as I put the controllers away. “You beat me fair and square. I’m just glad I didn’t come in eighth. But I still want a rematch.”

  I tell him, “Anytime.”

  The first piece of bad news for the evening is that we’re having scallops for dinner. The second piece of bad news is that Hannah’s coming over for another tutoring session.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I complain. “I need to mentally prepare if I’m going to work all night.”

  My mother rolls her eyes, a skill she’s mastered while living with me. “You played video games all afternoon,” she says. “I doubt a few hours of studying will kill you.”

  If I were the kind of kid who was good at research, here’s where I’d quote some depressing statistic proving that too much studying CAN actually kill you. I’m sure there are examples of some poor kid who got buried alive under a stack of textbooks during an earthquake or another unlucky student whose brain exploded from one too many long division problems. Unfortunately, my reading skills aren’t good enough for me to track down this valuable information in a timely manner.

  Before I finish moving the scallops around my plate, Hannah’s at the back door. Mom asks if she’d like some dinner, but Hannah says she’s eager to get to work. I tell her I can’t THINK about studying until I’ve cleared the table and done the dishes.

  Both my parents almost choke on their salad. My dad composes himself and pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Would you mind repeating that sentence so I can record it? It’ll be fun to play it back when I need a good laugh.”

  “Come on, Derek,” Hannah says. “Time’s a-wastin’.”

  It may just be my imagination, but when I feed Bodi some of my scallops, he seems to look at me with pity. I begrudgingly follow Hannah into the den.

  Too Many Notes

  Hannah seems like she might be all right to do normal things with, but she’s a taskmaster when it comes to tutoring. It’s hard to believe that someone wearing flip-flops, a Sonic the Hedgehog T-shirt, and purple stripes in her hair can act like such a drill sergeant, but that’s exactly what Hannah is. I haven’t seen so much of my own handwriting since Matt and I spent a month obsessed with making cootie catchers.

  “Are we almost done?” I ask for the zillionth time.

  We’ve been working for an hour, but Hannah still seems perky and ready to go. “Just a few more sections,” she answers.

  I remember how much Hannah loved Frank on her first visit, so I take him out of his cage to hopefully distract her. Before I can give her the rules of handling a monkey, she scoops Frank up in her arms. I take him back and explain how she needs to act around a capuchin. She listens closely, as if she might start taking notes. When I finally let her hold Frank, she seems happier than a two-year-old sitting on Santa’s lap.

 
“So I guess we’re done for tonight?” I pack up my notes before she can answer. This was certainly one of my better plans.

  Hannah waltzes around the den, dancing with Frank and her own inner music. While she enjoys herself with my monkey, I stash all my schoolwork under the couch, then hit the kitchen for some snacks.

  When I come back with a plate of Oreos, Hannah’s still wearing her goofy smile, but Frank is gone.

  “Where’s Frank?” I look behind the curtain, one of his favorite hiding places.

  “He scampered under the couch. I think he wants to play hide-and-seek.” She bends down to look underneath the sofa, but I tell her to move slowly so that she doesn’t startle him. Hannah gets down on her hands and knees behind the coffee table. “He’s just lying there chewing on paper. It’s adorable!”

  I hurry next to her on the floor and slide my hand underneath the couch to bring out Frank. My worst fear has materialized—Frank is devouring my notes.

  I whisk him onto the couch and try to salvage what I can of tonight’s work. It doesn’t help when Hannah starts laughing.

  “Instead of the dog ate my homework, it’s the monkey ate my homework. Funny, right?”

  “HILARIOUS.” I weed through the stack of mangled papers, but none of the pages can be saved. “I leave the room to get cookies and you let a monkey eat my notes? What kind of a tutor ARE you?”

  Hannah’s face changes from giggly to angry in two seconds flat. “You’re the one who knows the monkey rules, not me. How was I supposed to know he’d eat paper?” She grabs her jacket and heads to the kitchen. I pick up Frank and race behind her, making sure my mom hears both sides of the story.

  As a vet, Mom’s first concern is for Frank. She checks him out to make sure there’s nothing caught in his throat, then puts him back in his cage. If she was going to yell at me for taking Frank out or leaving loose papers around, she changes her mind when she sees my face. It’s been a long time since I cried—and I’m NOT going to now—but I can’t hide how frustrated I am. Mom gathers me in for a hug and tells me I did a good job taking all those notes and she’ll help me catch up tomorrow. She holds me until I get embarrassed and wriggle away.

  Hannah apologizes profusely as my mother writes her a check and schedules another session for next week. I gather up the shreds of paper and bury them in the wastebasket under the remains of the stupid scallops.

  For a brief moment tonight, I felt ahead of the game, as if defeating a test was almost possible. It’s probably how Carly and Umberto feel all the time, but for me the feeling was certainly new. I should’ve known that kind of positive feeling about schoolwork wasn’t meant for a second-rate student like me.

  Saturday!

  My dad and I get stuck behind a three-car accident on our way to the studio that sends me into an I’m-going-to-miss-everything state of anxiety. But we’re native Angelenos, so we always leave early to drive anywhere. Even after sitting in traffic without moving for twenty minutes, I still make it to Global Games on time.

  My friends are already in their groups; Carly’s in a corner with El Cid, playing a game on his phone. I try not to feel resentful that Carly’s the one hanging out with the gaming genius, but maybe she’ll get some tips we all can use to raise our scores in Arctic Ninja.

  Tom blows his whistle to get the day started. “Now that everyone’s familiar with the rules, today’s all about competition. Whoever gets the highest score by the end of the day wins a hundred-dollar prize.”

  The room buzzes with excitement. A hundred dollars!

  Matt rubs his hands together as if winning is actually a possibility. Out of our group, Umberto’s the one I’d bet my money on, but with El Cid here, I doubt anybody has a fighting chance.

  Even though we’re still in our groups, Tom tells us we’ll be playing the game on our own this time. We spread out in the giant room, each kid with a twenty-one-inch monitor, console, and controller. It doesn’t take long before the room erupts with the sounds of electronic lightning bolts, power surges, and explosions—not to mention shouting. As I move to the next level, I catch a glimpse of El Cid, calmly manipulating his controls. I’d give anything to know what his score is.

  My own score continues to climb. I’m actually better at this prototype than I am at any of my games back home. Arctic Ninja seems pretty straightforward, even though the graphics are complex. All I can do is try my best and stop worrying about where I stack up against everyone else.

  Later, when Tom blows his whistle for us to stop, I realize two hours have gone by. I look over to Matt, who gives me a thumbs-up. Maybe he DOES have a chance of winning the grand prize.

  “Each console is matched to a number on the main system, so we have immediate access to your scores.” Tom runs through screens on his iPad as he talks. “In third place, with 10,290 points, is the person at console 17.”

  Everyone hurries to find the number on the side of the console. The kid who made the crack about this being an origami class waves his arms in the air. Turns out his name is Toby. He makes a real fuss about coming in third, standing on his chair and pumping his fists in the air.

  “Second place, with 11,782 points, is the person at console 6.”

  Umberto lets out a “Yahoo!” for everyone in the room to hear. I knew Umberto was good—he almost always beats Matt and me—but I had no idea he’d stack up this well against players from around the world. I swell with pride for my friend.

  “And at 107,028 points, the player at console 8.”

  El Cid slowly gets up from his console and takes a bow to thunderous applause.

  “Come and get your prize!” Tom waves a crisp hundred-dollar bill in the air.

  “He got more than a hundred thousand points,” Matt whispers. “That’s insane!”

  “I wonder if the helmet helps,” I say. “Maybe I’ll start wearing a disguise too.”

  “Yeah, like that Lone Ranger mask you wore all through kindergarten,” Matt jokes. “It’s like you thought school was one big masquerade party.”

  As much as I try to keep a straight face, I can’t help but smile. It’s nice having a friend who’s known you forever and can remind you of every stupid thing you’ve ever done in your life.

  Carly comes racing over. “I got 10,120 points. Do you think I came in fourth?”

  I check out Matt’s monitor. He scored over ten thousand points too. Then I look at my own, with a meager score of 8,276. I’m really going to have to improve my gaming skills if I don’t want to be the worst player in the focus group.

  “Since we’re starting the next game with these high scores, our numbers this afternoon should be gigantic,” Umberto says.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask. “Doesn’t the next game start fresh?”

  My three friends exchange glances as if my question doesn’t make any sense.

  “You saved your game, right?” Carly asked.

  Matt looks down at the floor. “The manual said to always save your game when the session ends.”

  I look at my monitor. My score now reads a bright yellow ZERO.

  “You didn’t read that page?” Carly asks softly.

  I close my eyes to think, but I can’t remember if I read that important information and forgot or if I never read it at all. What I DO know is that I’m now thousands of points behind every other player in the room.

  Tom announces it’s time for lunch, so we follow the interns to the cafeteria. It’s a giant buffet of ribs and french fries, but no amount of tasty food can make me feel better about today’s screwup.

  “I was right behind El Cid!” Umberto says between chews. “Second place, behind a pro!”

  “Technically, you weren’t RIGHT behind him,” Matt says. “But second place is amazing.”

  I try to focus on feeling happy for Umberto instead of worrying about myself, now in last place. I look around the room at the large group of happy kids and wonder why it’s so hard for me to be one of them.

  It Gets Better
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  As I trudge back to my console to start Level One of Arctic Ninja all over again, I wonder if signing up for this focus group was a good idea. I mean, why am I feeling like a loser? It’s a Saturday! I could be skateboarding, or hanging out at the Promenade, or eating pizza in front of the TV with Bodi and Frank. If I wanted to feel miserable about myself, I might as well have just gone to school.

  Tom tells us that in this round, the top THREE players will win prizes. I know I don’t have a shot but am happy to race through the levels much faster than I went through them the first time. It’s almost as if coming up from behind gives me a kind of video game superpower. My counter zooms past ten thousand points in no time. I don’t know how the other participants are doing, because I’m using every bit of energy to lock into the world of Skippy the narwhal and his magic portals. But it’s not my usual panic-stricken concentration; it’s a relaxed kind of focus that for a moment makes me feel like I AM El Cid.

  When I hear Tom’s whistle, I hit the SAVE button immediately. I may not be the brightest kid in the room, but I’m not making the same mistake twice.

  “With a score of 21,723, third place goes to the player at console 6!” Tom shouts.

  Umberto pops a wheelie, then skids to a halt in front of Tom to collect his prize.

  “He’s gotten really good,” Matt whispers. “I think all that programming’s paid off.”

  “And in second place, with a score of 27,556, the player at console 4!”

  My jaw drops to the floor when Carly strolls over to collect her winnings.