Young Writers Society

It is August.

It is seventy-three degrees outside.

Faith Dyllan is glued to her computer.

He’s on your left--your left, you idiot-- The Skype window, open in the window right next to the game , fills with messages from her friends.

I know, I know-- she types, slamming the keys with a little too much urgency. On screen, her comrade rolls his eyes.

You’re gonna get us all killed. The text pops up in the lower left corner of the screen with a little ding, right next to his username--Sam Sutter.

Faith rolls her eyes. It’s fine--the boss isn’t even looking at us right now, she types. On the screen, a huge fist approaches the squadron. With two clicks, her pixelated avatar dodges the attack.

Her comrades aren’t so lucky. Sam manages to get out fairly safe, but Carter’s dreadlocked avatar disappears under the weight of the monster, and his sister Amelie’s leg gets grazed--two hearts disappearing from her health bar with two consecutive pops.

See what you’ve done now?

It’s not my fault! She stabs the send key with her ring finger--bad habit of hers.

Oh, it so is. If you hadn’t been firing like a madman over there, the boss wouldn’t have been able to locate us--

“Faith?”

The girl sits up straighter, minimizing the game window. “Yeah?” 

The door opens with a creak, and another girl steps through. Her gaze sweeps the room, taking in the unmade bed, the half-open window, the crumpled band tee-shirts shoved in a pile on the floor in the left corner of the room. “What are you doing?” 

“Messaging Sam,” Faith replies, perhaps a little too defensively, because the other girl--Lana, Faith’s sister--arches an eyebrow. “What?”

Her sister just shrugs. Then her eyes fall on the screen, and she frowns. “You’re not on that game again, are you?”

“What? What game?” She looks down at the computer too, then back up at the girl in the doorway. “Nope. No game.”

Lana still looks suspicious.

“Don’t you have somewhere to go? Something to do?” Lana always has something to do or somewhere to go.

The older girl considers this for a second, then, seeming to come up with something from her never-ending to-do list, gives her sister one last, long look before stepping back through the door.

Faith sighs in relief as she turns back to the computer.

Faith doesn’t look like a gamer.

She knows what most people picture when they think of her and her friends--short, pudgy, snapback and stained oversized shirt. Usually male. On the older side, maybe twenties or so. Faith is fifteen--sixteen in a month. Her hair, thick and dark, would hang to her waist if she let it grow that long. Instead, she’s cut it in a shiny pageboy, just past her ears, to the delight of her mother--the woman used to spend hours brushing tangles out of the dark brown mess. Her daughter is chubby, yeah, but far from gamer-boy chubby. And you wouldn’t catch her dead in a tee shirt even one size too big. She’s not even that smart-- the title of ’family genius’ belongs to her older sister Lana. In fact, for a while she was the kind of girl Lana and her tea-drinking, thick-book-reading cohorts hated--a 'popular' one. She dressed up for school, sat with a small team of friends at lunch, stayed up late at night on the phone working through whatever thorny problems anyone she knew had gotten themselves into. She was far from top of the rung in her school’s hierarchy, but she did love people. Loved talking to them, whether it was face-to-face or from behind a computer screen.

Her parents got the computer last year. It was meant to be for her and Lana, but Lana never uses it anyways. Some months ago, Faith up and moved it into her room, and Lana barely made so much as a peep. It was that day, actually, now that she thinks about it, that Faith downloaded Cave. It didn’t cost much--only twenty six dollars, which she’d had tucked away in her drawer for a while after winning that one band competition. As far as games go, this one’s not much. Only four bosses--those big monsters you defeat to level up--no fancy graphics, not much by way of storyline. But it’s really popular. And extremely addictive. Faith went from the kind of kid who doesn’t even watch the Sunday cartoons to pulling an all nighter helping to defend her tribe’s cave from the others. If you asked her, she could probably go off spouting some nonsense about problem solving and improved hand-eye coordination--but deep down she knows that’s all bullshit. No one downloads a twenty-six dollar a month game for ‘improved hand-eye coordination.’ They download it because they were bored, or for the thrill of watching the little points counter slowly but surely tick upwards, or for the pride when your name finally hits the top six on the leaderboards.

That’s another thing Faith likes about Cave. The competition. She wouldn’t have expected it. She was never into that kind of thing, not before. She didn’t particularly care about her grades, which team won at soccer, whether or not she won the three-legged race. She always ended up losing, anyways, so what was the point of getting attached?

But Cave--Cave was the first time she’d actually been good at something.

In Cave, you earn points for the caves you and your tribe conquer and ‘colonize.’ You earn points for the mushrooms you grow, for the water you gather, for the monsters you defeat, whether bosses or just ordinary spiders trying to steal your food. Easy enough to be attainable, hard enough to remain just out of reach.

And, for Faith, completely and utterly addictive. 

She downloaded it a year ago, and already she’s up to nearly a thousand points. At the top of the leaderboards--second, as a matter of fact. Ahead of Amelie, tied with some weeaboo in fourth, and her brother Carter, lingering behind in sixth. Ahead, even, of Sam, who was always the leader of their little gang. Though, to be honest, she’s not quite sure she can take all of the credit for that. Sam’s a senior this year, and the school work load has hardly been kind to him. He’s fallen from second to third. The girl’s taken up his slack. And she’s good at it, too--hundreds ahead of Sam, by now. Winning, by a long shot.

Or she would be, if it weren’t for Rana12.

It’s been one and a half years since this damn game came out, and Rana12 still hasn’t slipped from their position at the top. It used to be pretty flexible, actually--occasionally dropping from first to second, then crawling back up again--but these days, they’ve stopped messing around. They own half the villages in the place. They’ve cultivated every plant there is and then some. There’s not an inch of cave they haven’t explored, not a boss or even minor monster they haven’t fought. Do they even have a life?

They, Faith says, because Rana12 is a private person. Very private. Unusually private, for a videogame essentially based in being social. They don’t talk to anyone outside their tribe. Their profile is left empty. Besides a quartz chestplate and a curious pig snout, their avatar is pretty unremarkable--it's impossible to even tell what their gender is. (Hence the ambiguous pronouns.)

And anyone who’s ever touched the game knows they’re not someone to mess around with.

Faith has been neck-and-neck with them for, oh, about a month now. She was second before that, of course, but there’s never really been any real, serious competition before that. Not until now.

After a family dinner, after asking to be excused early, after shrugging off the knowing glances from her parents, Faith slips back upstairs and back into her room. She boots up the computer and pulls up both Skype and Cave--they might as well be the same to her now, she never pulls up one without the other anyways. While Cave loads the terrain, she logs into her Skype and checks for the rest of her tribe. All of them offline. Figures.

She switches to Cave. It’s all ready to go--and her heart skips a beat at the sight of the green button. She clicks on it, and the terrain pops up almost immediately. Purposefully pixelated, dark--like the night outside--a square moon floating in the upper left corner of her screen.

With a few clicks of her mouse, she hops up the rocks and away from her tribe--all marked as sleeping by the tiny icons floating over their heads. With a glance at the point counter in the bottom center of her profile, she heads out. With any luck, she’ll be able to hit 1500 before eleven.

“Did you remember to brush your hair, Faith, honey?”

“Hm?” The girl looks up from her bowl of cereal, absentmindedly lifting a hand to the knot at the back of her head. She did, but evidently she didn’t do such a good job of it. Probably too focused on not collapsing on the bathroom tile. “Yeah.”

Ms. Dyllan lets out a little huff of disapproval. “Well, go do it again. And maybe take a shower while you’re at it--for goodness’ sake, Fai, what did you do last night? Did you even sleep at all?”

“Yes,” Faith replies defensively. “I got a full eight hours, thank you very much.”

This is a complete and utter lie. She sat in front of the computer for about three hours, and her head didn’t hit the pillow until well after midnight.

This isn’t a regular occurrence. She’s usually actually quite a deep sleeper. But when Cave calls…

Usually she’d argue the hair brushing point further just for kicks, but this morning she doesn’t feel like it. She settle for some grumbling and dragging of feet as she heads back upstairs. It doesn’t even look that bad, she thinks, as she tilts her head from one side to the other, trying to ignore the matted rat’s nest right at the back. Reality, however, is a different story. It takes her a good five minutes to brush the thing, even with detangling cream she bought at the supermarket the other day. After she’s done, she throws on a new tee-shirt (Mom would give her hell for the old one, too) and rubs on some eyeliner. With a glance at the clock (6:45, almost time to leave) and a flick of her bangs, she heads down the stairs. Thank god Ms. Dyllan’s busy criticizing Lana’s taste in shirts; the younger girl manages to slip past with only a glance of slight disapproval and an admonishment to ‘eat a healthy breakfast--none of that cereal crap.’ (Mr. Dyllan’s a big fan of Captain Crunch, to the delight of his daughters and the chagrin of his wife.) Faith grabs a banana and a slice of toast--both of which she eats standing up while trying to wrestle herself into a sweater. Another glance at the clock. 6:58. That gives her exactly...let’s see…seventeen minutes. Fantastic.

She finishes scarfing down breakfast and does up the rest of her buttons. “‘Bye, Mom.”

Ms. Dyllan looks up from her argument with Lana, the incriminating top still tucked over one arm. “Have a nice day, sweetheart.”

“You too.” She shrugs her backpack over one shoulder and heads out, letting the door fall shut behind her.

“Ms. Dyllan?”

Faith pauses in the doorway, turning back to face her teacher. “Mr. Price?”

The older man is standing by his desk, reading glasses in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. He’s not even looking at her; his eyes are on the paper at his desk. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

Faith’s stomach clenches. “Sure…?” 

He gives a slight nod, then, with a flick of his wrist, unfolds his glasses and places them on the bridge of his nose. “I got your recent math quiz back today.”

The girl’s mind races. Which quiz? What was it on, again? She’s pretty solid when it comes to factoring, but she was having problems with chapter nine… “Yeah?”

“The results were...ah...less than satisfactory.”

“What do you mean?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, opting to simply hold up the piece of paper.

Faith does a sharp intake of breath. She can’t help it. Written in the teacher’s neat, legible handwriting is a fraction in the upper-right corner of the page.

Six out of twenty.

She steps forward to get a better look at it--as though it might just be a slip of the hand, a mirage--but he’s already folded it into quarters and tucked it back into a drawer. “Now, if this had been the first incident of its kind, I might be more forgiving. But, Faith, this is the third time this semester you’ve gotten worse than a D--and your other scores are...ah...far from stellar.”

Faith can feel herself turning crimson. She looks down at the toe of her shoe, scuffing away at a hardened piece of gum on the floor. “I know.”

“Then what’s the problem?” He leans across his desk, gripping the sides like a preacher on the pulpit. “I know you’re a hard worker, Ms. Dyllan. I know you can do this. We talked about this just the other day, didn’t we?”

Still staring at the ground, she nods. 

“We talked about your issues with factoring, what you didn’t understand. Didn’t that help?”

She nods again.

“Then why--” he holds up the paper again. “Are you still getting scores like this?”

She shrugs, daring a glance up at him. When it’s clear he expects her to respond, she looks off to the side. “It’s just--I learn it, and I remember it, but when the test comes around it just--I can’t seem to think of it. I remember all the wrong things the second the paper’s in front of me.”

“Why can’t you remember?”

“I’m not sure. I guess--I guess it’s just not interesting.”

She glances up again. He’s staring at the wood on the table, brow furrowed in thought. Her guilt is made worse by the fact that Mr. Price is a nice teacher, he really is. He really cares about his topic, you can tell by the way his voice starts gaining momentum if you even mention the word math in his presence, by the concentration he has at times like this. And he tries, he does. It’s not his fault he got caught teaching people like--well, people like Faith.

She doesn’t want to interrupt his train of thought, but a look at the clock reveals it’s necessary. “Thanks, Mr. Price, but I think I need to go--it’s almost time for Biology.”

He looks up at the clock as well. “Ah. Well. Sorry for keeping you. Be on your way, then, Ms. Dyllan.”

She nods and turns around. She’s almost to the door when he speaks again.

“Oh, and--Faith?”

She turns around. “Yeah?”

“Would you mind terribly telling your sister I need her for an extra hour today? We’re both volunteering on a citizen science project. It’s really very kind of her to join us.”

The girl nods, the knot in her stomach tightening. “Yeah, yeah I can.”

“Great. Fantastic.” He smiles, his cheeks dimpling. “She’s been a great help, you make sure to tell her that.”

“Of course.” She always is.

When Faith walks in the door eight hours and nine minutes later, she’s met with a silent kitchen and a water-stained note on the fridge. Plopping her backpack on the ground, she crosses to the counter and picks it up. Scribbled on the sticky note in Lana’s messy scrawl are eight words: At school government meeting. Will be home soon.

She feels like she should be disappointed, but to be honest, she’s kind of come to expect these things. Lana’s been gone a lot recently--what with her being elected Class President and all that. Not to mention all those citizen science projects she’s been getting into lately. The ones where you have to walk miles to ponds to count frogs or put tags on endangered birds. All very important stuff. The kinds of jobs science teachers give to the valedictorians, the kids at the tops of their classes.

It’s times like these, Faith thinks as she folds the note into quarters and tucks it into the pocket of her shorts, that she’s relieved she’s not the family genius. It’s not like her parents don’t pay any attention to her, or that the teachers at school never call on her for presentations. It’s just that sometimes the younger Dyllan sister wants to disappear. And it would be awfully hard to do that when you’ve got an IQ of 141 and an academic scholarship to Stanford. There’s no screwing around on the computer for hours for Lana. She’s too busy saving the world.

Faith takes the steps two at a time, making sure to start in a way so her foot won’t hit the stair that squeaks like a dying mouse when you hit it wrong, which is ninety-nine percent of the time. She doesn’t even bother stopping when she reaches the top, instead opting for the fun route--she grabs a hold of the post at the top, letting her momentum carry her around, then digging her heels in before she hits the wall. Mom’s not a huge fan of antics like this--but hey, that’s the beauty of being home alone, right?

She lets her hand fall off the post and crosses the hallway, eases her door open and steps inside. Her room’s exactly as it was when she left; pile of clothes in the corner, bed half-made, her collection of tea-stained mugs stacked on the cupboard her uncle taught her how to install. The window’s ajar, and a slight breeze prickles against her face as she crosses to close it. From up here, her mother’s garden looks less like lilacs and more like some bizarre sort of monster, scrambling over the fence, the flower boxes, the trunk of the tree chopped down when Mr. Dyllan was going through a lumberjack phase. They’re a nature-loving family, and not the sort who got caught up in some hippie fad in their mid-twenties and never left; no, they just genuinely love being outside, having their fingers in the dirt. Practically everyone’s got some sort of green thumb. Everyone, that is, but Faith.

She reaches up and shuts the window with a creak--practically everything under this ancient roof creaks--and turns back to her desk. The laptop’s sitting on the cracked and chipped surface, peeling decals decorating the plastic case. Sinking into her chair, she opens it and boots it up, clicking on the Skype icon when it’s fully loaded.

Just like she expected, someone’s waiting for her.

“Finally,” Amelie sighs as the screen pops up, slightly pixelated, mouth a second behind the words. “School got out for you, too, huh?”

Faith nods. “Mom was on my back about homework. History project. Not like you would know, obviously.”

Amelie smirks. “Homeschool, baby. Homeschool.” It’s funny, seeing her in real life--Faith has almost come to think of her as her avatar, diamond chestplate and all. On screen, however, she looks like any other kid Faith would pass in the cafeteria--skin so black it’s almost blue, hair piled up on her head in two twin buns, pencils stuck through like chopsticks. In the background, the brunnette can just make out a window and a loveseat, half-illuminated by the dim glow of the morning sun. It’s early there, but Amelie’s a morning creature.

The other girl rolls her eyes. “Jerk.” She switches over to her game screen, where the bar is still lingering around 50%. “Is your terrain up yet?”

Amelie’s eyes flick down to her screen, then back up to her friend. “Yeah. You’re still not on?”

“Nope. Must be a bad internet connection--hold on--” She clicks over onto the internet--four bars--logs out, then back in again, and checks the screen. It’s ready now. Computers. “And...I’m...up.” With a click of the green button in the center of the screen, the cave surroundings pop up all around. The rest of their tribe is still out cold, but a ninety-degree turn reveals Amelie’s avatar to be hopping up and down impatiently by the entrance. Faith joins her, peaking tentatively out of their shelter. Outside, tiny pixelated raindrops are falling from the sky. No monsters in sight, dune or otherwise. Amelie leads the way out of the opening, and Faith can see her fingers flying on the keys in the screen. “See anything?”

The other girl shakes her head. “Nope.”

Faith switches back over to the game screen, keeping a watch on the Skype out of the corner of her eye. It takes a certain amount of concentration, but she’s used to it by now. She manages to navigate her way down the path and over some boulders with a few clicks of her mouse. The simulated plinks of the raindrops echo in her room, and in spite of herself, she smiles. It can be strangely calming, sometimes. The game.

She hops up on a boulder to get a better vantage point. They’re on a mountain looming over what appears to be some kind of marsh--and beyond that, a village. She can pick out a handful of sheep, some other players, a couple of clouds. Above, the square sun rotates in the sky, fast enough to cause some sort of earth-shattering apocalypse in real life, flickering under clouds and behind the mountains that hem in this particular little village.

“How’s Carter doing? How come he’s not here?”

Amelie glances up from her keyboard to meet her friend’s gaze--or the green glow of the webcam, Faith supposes, though that sounds less poetic. “Feeling a bit sick. Slept in today.” Her avatar bounces from one rock to the next, and Faith follows. Together they pick their way down the craggy mountainside. “Horrible bout of the flu’s going around.”

“Too bad.”

With a few more clicks of the mouse, both of them reach the bottom. There’s a small sign--one of the kinds you can spawn with a special attachment--that reads ‘Town of Longdale, Pop. 600.’ And then, in smaller lettering below-- ‘Mayor: Rana12.’

Of course.

“Do you think we should stop by?” Amelie’s considering the sign as well, head tilted to the side in the video chat screen. “Maybe check out the trade center? I think I might need a new axe.”

“Nah.” Faith tries to make her tone as lighthearted as possible. “Didn’t you just get a new one a couple of weeks ago?”

Amelie frowns. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, then. Shouldn’t we be getting around to, you know, actually building stuff?”

Her friend arches an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know. There was a cave nearby that we wanted to check out, wasn’t there? With diamonds and stuff in it? We could probably have, like, 500 points alone just by climbing the mountain it’s in.”

She thinks she’s being quite persuasive, to be honest. Why, if she were Amy, she would’ve turned on her heel already.

The other girl, however, isn’t quite as easily convinced. “This doesn’t have to do with your weird obsession with that Rana12 person, does it?”

“No--no! What made you think that?” Faith replies, perhaps a bit too quickly.

Amy rolls her eyes. “You’ve been obsessed with beating them ever since they hit the top three, Faith.”

“That isn’t true.” She punches the space key with her ring finger, sending her avatar forward a few steps. “I’m just competitive, that’s all.”

Amy raises an eyebrow. “You’re being catty, that’s what.”

“Catty? Me? How am I being catty?”

“You won’t even touch any of their villages.”

“That’s not true--I bought a basket at that other one just last week!”

“I had to spend, like, an hour talking you into it.”

“You did not.”

“Did too.”

“Prove it.”

Amy is just opening her mouth when the door to Faith’s room creaks open.

The girl spins around in her seat, looping one arm over the back with almost no effort. Standing in the doorway, backlit by the light from the hall, is Lana.

“Hey.” The older girl leans on the doorframe, eyes flicking to the computer. Deja vu. “I’m home.”

“What happened to knocking?”

“Why?” She reaches up, pushing her bangs out of her eyes in a gesture that probably makes all the nerds at school piss their pants. “Not doing anything suspicious, right?”

Faith catches herself blushing and she can’t quite pin down why.“You’d kill me if I didn’t knock on your door.”

Lana huffs--her bangs flutter--and throws up her hands in a mockery of surrender. “Fine. You got me. Has Mom called yet?”

Faith shakes her head.

“Huh.” She looks back at the computer. “Who’ve you got on there? Is that one of your video game friends?”

Faith’s blush deepens. “Yeah--so?”

“Shouldn’t you be doing your homework?”

“I don’t have any.” Another lie. She’s got one more page of math problems and a thesis statement for her English essay due tomorrow. But hey, it’s not like it’s going to take a long time to do or anything. She’s done stuff like that on mornings and late nights before. It’s really no big deal.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” She turns back to the computer, giving Amy an apologetic look. “Now can you go, please?”

With a shrug, Lana steps back out into the hallway. Faith gets up and pushes the door shut, then plops into her chair and turns back to the computer. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s no big deal. Siblings are a pain.”

“You’re telling me.” She switches back to Cave. It’s already getting dark--days last little more than a few hours in the game. “Oh, dear--looks like we don’t have any time to go shopping if we want to mine that mountain. What a pity.”

Amelie rolls her eyes. “Fine. Fine. You win. Where was that mountain, again?”

Faith can’t keep a smug grin off her face. “I made a path the other night. Here, I’ll show you.”

“How was school today, honey?”

Faith takes a few bites of chicken and swallows. “Fine.”

“Any homework?”

“Already asked,” Lana chips in. “She says none.” She casts a pointed glance at the younger girl, which Faith chooses to ignore.

The suspicion lacing their eldest daughter’s tone flies right over Mr. and Ms. Dyllan’s heads. “Excellent,” their father says, turning to his wife. “And your work day? How was it?”

“Oh, it was great--we got this skeleton of a velociraptor, extremely rare--in prime condition too--from Montana. They want us to reconstruct it. Should only take a couple of weeks, really.” When she’s talking about her job, Ms. Dyllan smiles really wide, except like all Dyllan women she’s got a funny smile, with one half of her mouth going all crooked and funny. Muckle-mouthed, maybe that’s the word she’s looking for.

“Only a few weeks?” Mr. Dyllan looks up from his plate at his kids around the table. “Does that mean you’ll be free this weekend?”

“I suppose it does.”

The man’s eyes light up. “Do you think we could have a family hike this weekend? There’s a really nice hill up near Amsterdam Drive--the flowers are supposed to be beautiful this time of year.”

Faith looks to Lana, who looks down at her plate. “Sorry, Dad. I’ve got to work on my student government campaign. We’re doing that Save the Dogs thing--remember?”

Mr. Dyllan frowns. “Oh, yes--that. Are you sure you can’t spare a minute or two?”

“Positive. Unfortunately.”

Ms. Dyllan lets out a little sigh.

Faith pipes up. “Can I stay home, too? I’ve got an English project.”

“Sure you do,” Lana mutters under her breath. Faith tries to kick her, but her legs aren’t long enough.

“Really? An English project?”

“Yeah. From, uh, Mr. White. S’posed to be a piece about the Holocaust.” For the first time, it’s not a total lie. She does have a piece due soon. And it is supposed to be about the Holocaust. It just won’t take her all weekend to do.

Mr. Dyllan glances at his wife. “Well. That’s certainly unfortunate. I suppose we’ll have to wait for next week, then.”

Faith nods, doing her best to look as sympathetic as possible while ignoring the darts her sister’s shooting at her with her eyes.

After dinner’s over, after they’ve all cleaned their plates and wiped the counters, after the parents lower their voices and lean in closer--the universal sign initiating an adult conversation--Faith and Lana slip upstairs. And after they reach the top, before Faith gets a chance to duck back in her room, Lana grabs her arm. “I know you don’t have any homework this weekend, Fai.”

“Mind your own business.”

“I’m just saying.”

“How do you know, anyways?”

“I was with Mr. White today, and he said the whole thing’s due in two weeks--two weeks, Fai.” She puts extra emphasis on each syllable, like she’s not sure her sister can understand. “You do realize that gives you plenty of time to be with Mom and Dad, right? ”

“I might be stupid, but I’m not deaf.” Faith tugs her arm away from her sister’s surprisingly strong grip. “And maybe the teachers don’t always tell you everything. Ever consider that?”

She knows she’s being nasty, and she doesn’t care. She turns on her heel and steps into her bedroom.

“You can’t spend all your time on that stupid game, Faith,” her sister calls after her.

Faith sticks her head back out the door frame. “Watch me,” she snaps before shutting the door with entirely too much force.

She’s still fuming when she boots up her computer, but as the terrain loads and the pixelated landscape starts to come together, she feels her heartbeat puttering down, the knot in her stomach loosening some. So what if her genius sister is, OK, right as always? So what if Mom’s going to be on her back all week about that stupid hike?

The only thing that matters, right now, as she punches in her password and joins her friends, is that, with all that new rock she and Amelie collected last session, she’s only 500 points away from beating Rana12.

“It’s too bad you can’t come with us on that hike.”

Faith sighs. “I know, I know--it’s homework, not me.”

Ms. Dyllan arches an eyebrow, a trait Faith often catches herself wishing she’d inherited. “What exactly is this essay going to be about?”

“The Holocaust.”

“That’s a pretty broad topic.”

Her daughter shrugs. “I’m doing the Roma people in Auschwitz, if that helps any.”

“Hm.” The older woman stands up--she was doing up her shoelaces--and picks up her backpack. “You know, my Godmother was a Roma. Fascinating history, that. You might be able to call her--I think she’s still got a landline.”

“Yeah, maybe I will.” Faith tries to copy her sister’s perpetually-fascinated-with-everything-that-might-impress-others tone--and for the most part fails, if you’re going to go by the expression on her mother’s face. “Have fun on your hike.”

“You’re sure you’re not coming?”

She shakes her head.

“Alright, then. We will.” Ms. Dyllan steps forward, wrapping her daughter in a quick hug.

“Honey?” The door creaks open, and Mr. Dyllan sticks his head through. His wife steps away from her daughter. “You ready?”

The woman nods.

“Have a nice time,” Faith calls after her parents as they step outside.

“No computer, hon,” her mother adds as the door shuts behind them.

Faith waits until they car’s backed out of the driveway and rounded the corner before she runs up the stairs and back to her room, practically slipping on the carpet. She has to slow down when she passes her sister’s room, enough that her toes don’t scuff the ground. Enough, in fact, that she notices the dim glow coming from under the door.

She stops. She pauses. And she reaches for the door handle.

Things like barging in on your sister are so much easier in the movies.

In the movies, the doors don’t creak, and your sister doesn’t turn around, quick as lightning, before your foot even hits the floor. “What the hell, Fai?”“Don’t call me that.” The older girl’s hand is still resting on the top of the laptop, mouth hanging open slightly in shock. “Hypocrite. What are you doing with the computer?”

“Campaign stuff--what do you think I’m doing? And what are you doing here?”

“I need it.”

Lana rolls her eyes. “Sure you do.”

“I do! I need it for my English project!”

“Oh, yeah...your ‘English project.’” She manages to inject so much sarcasm into two words and a hand movement, it’s rather impressive. “You’re just going to goof around on that dumb game.”Faith’s face turns a splotchy shade of pink--she can see her reflection in the mirror Lana’s got propped up under the window. “Yeah? What does your campaign need it for? Can’t you just write in a journal or something?”

“I need to email.The other people in the campaign, you know?”

Faith doesn’t know what to say to that, so she settles for an indignant huff and a “Well, let me know when you’re done with it” before heading back to her room.

She wishes she could dislike the lack of computer in her room--but to be honest it’s something of a godsend for her homework. She manages to knock out ten math problems and fifteen pages of reading before plopping onto her bed with her worn-out copy of A Wrinkle In Time. One of the few books she actually enjoyed reading in school, back in fourth grade. Somehow she never gets sick of it, even after rereading it enough that she can quote entire pages.

She’s just reaching the part where Meg’s yelling at the Principal when two sharp, efficient raps come on the door. She rolls out of bed, bookmarking the page she’s on and setting the book back on the quilt, socked feet padding on the floor as she crosses to the door.

When she pulls it open, Lana’s standing in the doorway, laptop held out like an offering between warring tribes. “I’m done.”

Faith reaches out and takes the computer, wrapping her arms around it. “Thanks.”

In place of a proper reply, Lana rolls her eyes and mumbles something under her breath that could possibly be a ‘you’re welcome,’ though it might also be ‘need it back soon.’ Either way, her little sister doesn’t really care. She gives Lana a slight nod before shutting the door.

This is all the friendship their relationship has ever amounted to--not-arguing, consensual sharing of electronics. This might sound sad, but Lana’s gone too often, and Faith’s too dumb for it to amount to more than that. What would they talk about, anyways? They’ve got literally nothing in common. All Faith likes is rock music and sci-fi and video games; all Lana thinks about is saving the world.

Yeah, it feels good getting the computer and the game back--but when she boots it up and clicks on the leaderboards, her relief is short-lived. Her number of points is still the exact same--1567, right where it was before--but the number by Rana12 has changed.

By a ton.

2555.

2555.

Now, she’s too lazy to do the math in her head, but she’s pretty sure that that’s a good 1,000 points ahead of her.

1,000 points.

How is she expected to beat that?

How does anyone even get that much in, what, eight hours?

That’s ridiculous.

Doesn’t this person have a life?

She checks their profile, but they’re offline. Too bad. She almost wishes she could see them in action, if only for some tips on how to approach the game.

But once again, no dice. In fact, they never seem to be online when she is. Probably different time zones. Too bad. She’d kill for a chance to get them alone, to figure out what they used to get ahead of her. Some type of mod, maybe? She’ll have to look into it later. Sam’s into that kind of stuff.

Speaking of Sam, when she switches to the chat system, all three of the others are online--a rare occurance, when you take into account Sam’s homework and all.

But there he is. And he’s not just there--the second she logs on, an invitation to a chatroom pops up. She joins it, and soon the text is streaming down her screen. They’ve been here for a while. Goddamit, Lana.

Hey, guys, she types. Sorry about the wait.

It’s fine. That’s Sam. What kept you? 

Lana. My sister. She’s barely talked about the older girl to them, and she intends to keep it that way. This is one of the few places she isn’t “Faith--Lana’s sister.” The first time Lana is the less-important one. The first time she’s actually been good at something. Stole the computer. What were you guys up to?

We mined the rest of that mountain you were telling us about. The text pops up right next to Carter’s picture on the screen--a dragon he insists he drew, though Faith seriously doubts it. Got a ton of diamonds. Divided the points between the rest of us. I’ve got some for you if you pop over to the game.

OK. Faith clicks on Cave. For the first time, it only takes a few minutes to load. The others are all there, waiting for her. A tiny bubble hovers over Carter’s avatar’s head. She approaches, and soon she can see that he’s offering her something. When she clicks on him, the tiny point-counter in the corner of her screen dings, and the number bumps up by ten.

This is the whole point of having tribes on Cave--you can share points. You mine stuff together, then divide them up accordingly. That’s another reason Rana12 surprises Faith so much. Their tribe is tiny--only two other people. To be fair, Faith’s is pretty small as well, but she’s in second place now. And Sam’s kind of legendary when it comes to this game. He was number one once. He brags about it quite a bit.

As Faith switches back over to the Skype window, intent on thanking Carter, the floor beneath her feet starts to vibrate. She punches three letters into the keyboard--brb--then stands up and runs to her other window, the small one that faces the driveway. Sure enough, her parents’ silver Chevy is pulling up. One of the few beauties of living above the garage; she knows when everyone’s coming and going.

She hurries back to the computer, not even bothering to sit back down. Got to go for now. Sorry.

Amelie’s text pops up. Talk to us later?

Maybe tonight. She hits send, then downsizes both of the windows, switching to a half-filled in word document. Just in time, too; she can hear her Mom’s footsteps on the hardwood floor below, the pitter-patter of Lana’s feet on the stairs. She stands up, pushing back the chair, and flops back down on her bed, picking up her book and turning to where she left off.

She manages to get back to her computer later that night. It’s almost twelve o’ clock by the time everyone’s sound asleep, and she doesn’t care. She drags herself out of bed, slightly bleary-eyed, and pulls the computer into her lap. Hey, guys. It’s me.

Back? Amelie types.

Yeah.

What time zone are you in, again? That’s Sam.

Pacific--why?

Carter jumps in. It’s, like, midnight there.

So?

So you’re up really late, Faith. Don’t you have school tomorrow?

I’ll be fine. She glances over at the game screen for a second. What have you guys been doing?

We got some gold from that stream nearby. A good three hundred points. Also checked out this local place--huge mountain, probably tons of rock inside. But you’ve got the pickaxe and all that, so…. Amelie lets her virtual sentence trail off.

Faith takes up the slack. Cool. Where was it?

A little ways south of here. Do you want me to show you?

Sure.

The four of them head out, down a path Amelie had carved to keep her place, following the tiny compass at the top of the screen, pointing towards south. Faith shifts her weight a bit on the pillows, arching her back. The glow on the screen in the otherwise dark room is beginning to hurt her eyes, but there’s no way she’d tell the others that. Sam would jump into full lecture mode for sure.

It doesn’t take them long to find the mountain--thank God for Amelie for that--but mining it’s a different case. They really do need the pickaxe Faith picked up at the market a ways back.

Amelie, it turns out, was right; there is a lot of rock in the mountain. Quartz, and diamond, even some turquoise. They divide it up amongst the four of them, and then head out, this time towards the North, to check out that stream bed again, just in case there’s more.

There is--not until a few good hours of mining have passed, but there is. By the time it’s over, Faith is almost ready to collapse from fatigue--her eyes are drooping, and she keeps on yawning so hard her ears pop.

But it’s all worth it. Because when she finally logs out of Skype, bidding the tribe goodbye, when she goes to check the points counter for the last time that night, it’s obvious her work has paid off. Significantly.

2570 points.

Ten more than Rana12.

With a sigh of contentment, she sets the computer onto the ground and sinks back onto the bed.

The sharing of report cards has never been a pleasant occasion.

But this year might just take the cake as the worst yet.

Though she technically wasn’t supposed to, Faith got a glimpse at hers on the bus ride home today. And while it wasn’t as bad as the worst case scenario (all Fs, she never gets into college and ends up working at Bob’s Cheesy Chili Fries stand and living in her parents’ basement while her sister cuts deadly cancers off of the bodies of poor sick children) it certainly wasn’t far from it. She feels rather like a suicide bomber with the deadly missile, set to go off in ten minutes, buried at the bottom of her backpack.

She shouldn’t have gone on Cave; it was stupid. She could’ve gotten those points some other way, at some other time. A time that wasn’t the morning before her big tests in Math and Biology.

“Hey, sweetie.” Her mom gives her a tired smile as she comes in the door and drops her bag on the floor. “How was school?”

You have no idea. “Fine, I guess.”

“That’s good.” She indicates the fridge with a tilt of her head. “Dinner’s in there--help yourself. I’ll just go grab your sister and your father.”

Faith nods, and as her mother starts heading up the stairs, sinks into one of the chairs. Drying her hands off on the itchy denim of her shorts, she tries fruitlessly to calm down, to take deeper breaths. This isn’t good. This is not good. If she was messaging her friends, she’d be in all caps, with exclamation points. Maybe even alternating cases. She tries to imagine what the others would say, Sam and Carter and Amelie.

Amelie, a genius in her own right, would probably faint if she even got a glimpse of the tiny yellow card. Carter would try and distract her, test out his latest puns. The last time she bombed a quiz in class he had something to say about stools and pills. And Sam would lecture, his face going all stern, even using proper punctuation in his texts.

Long story short, not even they would be happy. And they’re hardly a bunch of academics. Her parents, on the other hand, will probably have a cow and three pigs between the two of them.

“What happened to you?” Lana comes down the stairs and into the kitchen with a curious expression on her face. “You look half dead.”

“Thanks for noticing.” She tries to arrange her face into something resembling a smile, but the attempt just gets her a look of mild concern from the older girl. “Report card day, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. Report card day.” Helping herself to a slice of lasagna with one hand, she indicates the envelope on the table with the other. “Dad already checked out mine. Mom’s still got to take a look.”

Though she knows it’s only going to make her feel worse, Faith can’t help leaning across the table and pulling the slip from the envelope. Her throat tightens as she scans the neat grid. A, A, A+, A+, A, A+. All like that, right down the middle. She’d feel jealous if she wasn’t already numb.

She’s just trying to decide if going before or after Lana’s will make those tiny letters more bearable when her parents come downstairs.

“I see you found the lasagna,” Mr. Dyllan remarks with amusement as he and his wife take their seats at the table, plates already in hand. “Faith, honey, why don’t you help yourself to some food?”

She shakes her head. “Nah, I--I’m not all that hungry.”

“You sure?”

She nods, a little too enthusiastically. “Yeah. Yeah I’m sure.”

“Alright, then.” He picks up his napkin, unfolding it with a few shakes, and sets it on his lap. “Report cards before, or after?”

“Before,” Lana says before Faith has a chance to jump in, and the younger sister throws Lana a glare. The eldest returns the look with a puzzled expression, as if she really can’t guess what all the fuss is about.

“Alright--before it is, then.” Ms. Dyllan picks up the envelope on the table. “Is this yours, Faith?”

I wish. “Nah, that’s Lana’s.”

“Oh.” She reaches in, pulling out the paper and unfolding it. It takes her barely a minute to skim the thing before she sets it back down, a smile already tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Lana…!”Lana looks down at her plate, trying and failing to keep up a modest expression. “It’s nothing, really.”“All As isn’t nothing, sweetheart.” Mr. Dyllan is quiet, as usual, but there’s no muting the huge grin on his face. “And such stellar teacher comments, too.”

“Well done, well done.” Ms. Dyllan sends her one last smile before turning to Faith. “What about you, hon?”

This is it. This is the moment. “It’s…um...it’s in my backpack. I’ll just--go grab it.”

“OK.” She swears the two of them trade an uneasy look as she gets to her feet and crosses the room.

Her fingers are almost too sweaty to grip the zipper. Once she manages to get a hold of it, she pulls it down as slowly as she can, until she can’t take it anymore. She reaches inside, pushing aside her Biology textbook and her Rubix cube before her fingers hit the small rectangle. She pulls it out and, taking tiny little steps, walks back to her seat and throws it out on the table like a challenge in a battle.

It’s her dad who reaches out this time, and Ms. Dyllan looks over his shoulder as he pulls the paper from the envelope. Both of their big blue eyes widen at the exact same time. It would be funny if it weren’t so terrifying.

Her mother’s the first one to speak. “Faith.”“I know, I know, alright?” She looks away, turning her body as far around as she can go in her chair. “I know.”

“These are….” Her mother’s voice is incredulous. “Honey, I thought we talked about this. Didn’t we talk about this?”

Faith stares at the chip in the wood floor. “We did.”

“So what would make you think that scores like this are acceptable?” Anger is slowly seeping into Ms. Dyllan’s voice. “Didn’t your teachers talk to you?”

“They did.”

“About applying yourself? About getting this whole thing together?”

“I said they did, Mom.”

“Then why--” Mr. Dyllan sets a hand on her shoulder, but she shakes it off. “Why is this still happening? You’re a smart kid, Fai--”

“No I’m not.” Her voice is small, and pouty. She sounds like a child and she doesn’t even care.

“What are you talking about?” Her mother stands up and starts to pace, wringing her hands together. Faith can practically see the scenarios in her mind’s eye right now. No university, summer school, back to eighth grade…

“I’m not smart. Lana’s smart. Lana’s the responsible, hardworking one.”“You know that’s not true.”

“Yes it is.” Her eyes are stinging--has she got dust in them?

“No, it’s not.” Ms. Dyllan pauses in her path, hands now on her hips. “You’re not dumb. You’ve gotten good grades before.”

“Yeah, in third grade.”

“It’s all about work. You just need to work harder.” Her mom’s almost convinced herself, she can tell. She’s starting to calm down. All she needs is a vote of confidence from her daughter, an apology and a promise, delivered with a straight back and a calm, firm voice.

Faith wishes she could give it. Really, she does. She wants to.

Instead, she makes the mistake of glancing up at the table. At Mom, icey eyes fierce with anger, at Dad, leaning away from the table. At Lana, frozen like a deer in the headlights, hands partially raised in a surrendering gesture, like a bandit caught in the act. Perfect Lana. Responsible Lana. Together, adult, confident Lana, saving the world and curing cancer and on her way to winning the Nobel peace prize, probably. With a stupid little sister who can’t even pass tenth grade. With a stupid little sister whose only real talent is video games.

The room is swimming, all of a sudden, and Faith’s face is burning. She stands up so suddenly Lana jumps back from the table a little and runs for the stairs, feet pounding on the carpet. Tears are running down her face--God, she’s pathetic. She tries to wipe them away, rubbing furiously with the heels of her hands, but by the time she’s reached her room she’s given up. She slams the door behind her and sinks into her bed, envelope still clutched in one hand.

The next few days aren’t the worst thing that could happen, but they feel like it.

There’s meeting with teachers, there’s discussion of tutors, there’s homework and worksheets and tests. There's a meeting with the school counselor, discussions of a diagnosis--dyslexia, ADD, dyscalculia. There are more rules, stricter curfews. Faith is grounded. The one rule that drives her crazy is the one involving the computer. Only an hour during the daytime, and it blocks Cave during her ‘homework time.’ The lack of procrastination is driving her crazy, which she knows is pathetic. She’s starting to sound like one of those kids in the PSAs about technology they show during health class.

She misses Cave. She misses Amelie and Carter and Sam, who she only gets to see for a few minutes after homework’s done. She misses her friends from school, Cathy Stolls and Leo Rubinski and everyone else she used to call and meet at the local abandoned baseball diamond when she had freetime.

So yes, she thinks to herself as she walks down the hallway, she has earned another night of Cave, thank you very much.

“Lana?” She knocks on the door, pauses. “Lana…”

“What?”

“I need the computer.”

“You can’t have it.”

“I need it.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

A pause, footsteps behind the door. Faith’s about to knock again when it flies open, and she’s face-to-face with a tired-looking Lana, laptop in hand. “No, you don’t.”

“I do to.”

“You’re just going to play that stupid game.”

She considers protesting, but it’s not like anyone will believe her at this point. “Yeah. So what?”

The older girl considers this for a moment, squinting, before handing over the computer. “Give it back once you’re done.”

“Thanks.” She can’t keep the grin off her face as she walks back to her room. She doesn’t even bother grabbing a chair--just sinks to the floor as she powers up, already smiling like an idiot when she opens Skype. Lana’s stuff is still up, so she needs to exit out of her email and word documents, obviously. The funny thing is, once she’s cleared out all that stuff--once she’s cleared out all that stuff, Cave pops right up. Weird. She must’ve left it up from a previous session. She hopes Lana didn’t mess around on it at all.

She checks Skype. No one’s on. Just her luck. She can’t mine that new stash they found all on her own; she’ll need to settle for a smaller mountain. Maybe a local hill? Yeah, that one looked promising.

She switches over to the video game. It’s weird--she hasn’t got the best memory, but she’s pretty sure she left off in the cave with the rest of her tribe. Not in some weird field. And she’s also pretty sure the rest of the tribe was nearby--there’s no one in sight here.

Did she forget? It has been a while. Did she accidentally hit ‘drop me: random?’ Carter did that once. She thinks he fixed it by going to his profile. So she’ll just pop over here--

She clicks on the link in the corner of the screen. It takes a second to load--thirty percent, forty, fifty, eighty, one hundred--and then her profile comes up. She’s all ready to scroll down when she notices something.

Something weird about her avatar.

God, did Lana mess around on here or something? It’s got a pig nose now, a funny froggy hat, rain boots, and--

She actually gasps out loud, pressing one hand to her mouth in surprise.

A diamond chestplate. A diamond chestplate. The same one she’s been planning on buying since she beat Rana12. The best in the game.

And speaking of Rana12--her points counter is different. Lower.

2555.

The same as--

Why, it’s the same as Rana12’s.

Slowly, painstakingly, the cogs in her mind begin to turn. 2555 points. A diamond chestplate. Dropped in a random place. A profile that isn’t hers.

Still scarcely believing it, she scrolls to the top of her profile. Or, as it turns out, not her profile. Because just as she guessed, the username at the top isn’t hers.

It’s Rana12.

She’s on Rana12’s profile. Rana12 was on her computer. And the only other person who uses this computer is--

“Lana!”

“How did you find out?”

“You left it logged in. On our computer.”

Lana hasn’t looked at her sister yet. Her eyes are trained on the tree outside, her bright pink face half-hidden from view. It’s funny, really, how much the two of them look alike when embarrassed. “God. God, I’m an idiot.”

“You kind of are.” There’s no venom in the words. In fact, Faith is smiling. She can’t help it. There’s something sort of undeniably funny about the whole situation, you have to admit. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lana frowns. “I was worried you’d tell Mom and Dad. That they’d know I was doing--well--that instead of my campaign work. That they’d start…” She looks a little guiltly. “...treating me like you. Like the, uh, weird video gamer kid. Not like there’s anything wrong with that,” she adds hastily.

Faith doesn’t seem to notice. She’s focused on the window, gaze trained on the tree outside, in thought. “And...I beat you.”

“What?” Lana looks up from the bed.

“I beat you. At Cave.” Faith’s smile widens a bit. “I was...better than you. At something.” The words feel strange in her mouth, alien. She’s never had an excuse to speak them before, after all.

Lana smiles a little, too. “Yeah, yeah. You...you were.”A silence falls, but for the first time it doesn’t feel awkward or strained. Instead it feels natural. Like a silence with Carter and Amelie and Sam would feel. Like a silence with her friends at school. “What did you do, anyways? Why were you having trouble with points?”

Lana flushes a bit at this question, like she’s still embarrassed. “Oh. That. I...I couldn’t find a mountain. Couldn’t figure out how to get there.”

“Oh, you don’t need a mountain.”

Lana frowns again. “You don’t?”

“Nah. You can get it from streams, old riverbeds, even the plain ground sometime if you’re lucky. You just have to have the right technique.” She pauses a second, unsure. “Do you...want me to show you how?”

“Would you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

Lana beams. Faith takes a seat on the bed next to her, opening up the computer and clicking on Cave. As the computer powers up, Lana leans over and rests her head on top of her younger sister’s, and when it’s all ready to go, she says, “I could tutor you in school, you know.”

Faith looks up, surprised. “Really?”

Lana nods. “Really. You wouldn’t mind it?”

“Why would I mind it?”

“It might be weird, getting taught by your sister.”

Faith snorts. “Says the one asking for advice from her sister.”

Lana smiles. “Fair enough.” The loading bar reaches 100 percent, and the terrain pops up. “So you wouldn’t mind?”

Faith twists around a little so she can throw her a smile, the first genuine one the two have shared in what feels like ages. “I wouldn’t mind in the least.”