“Aren’t you going to be hot in that?” Mother asks me as we’re headed out the door.

  “It’s fine,” I say, popping up the collar of the spiky leather jacket Link procured for me. It feels flashy, but I tell myself it’s all part of my new vampire aesthetic. A guy needs a flashy lure like this if he’s gonna catch a fish, and I mean to catch a big one.

  Alright fat girls, daddy’s here. Come take a bite…

  To my chagrin, I don’t run into any chunky gothic girls at the train station, only a group of nuns, and a procession of Japanese tourists who don’t give me a second glance. I feel disappointed but not dissuaded as we board the train. I swear I’ll get a girlfriend yet!

  Our family’s booked a first class private car. Here I enjoy a light lunch of tartar with cubed avocado, marinated ora king salmon, crispy shallots and a dollop of caviar. I’m seated across from my parents, who skip lunch, both absorbed in their work. Wearing their smart glasses, they interact with screens visible only to them, answering emails, typing reports, and in general keeping up to date on the current market trends.

  “I’ll have to attend a short business meeting in two minutes,” Mother announces.

  Father says nothing, unbothered. Probably, he has the nanospeaker in his ear canal switched on, and doesn’t even hear her.

  “It’s not confidential. You may stay or step out as you like,” she says to me.

  “I’ll step out,” I say, pressing the table aside and rising. I guess this answer surprises her. Noting her expression, I stop with my hand hovering over the door panel.

  “Something wrong?”

  “You’re different,” she says, watching me intently. I raise an eyebrow in question and she narrows her gaze. “At the station too, I noticed it. You were looking around instead of staring at the floor. And now you opt to walk about the train, and risk running into people.”

  “Is…that a problem?”

  She watches me intently a moment. “No,” she says at last.

  “Right,” I say, waving my hand over the sensor to open the door.

  “How’s your heart, by the way?”

  “It’s fine,” I say, and close the door behind me.

  My heart. The last time it acted up was when Charis started getting fresh with me. But that was just first time nerves, and doesn’t count, I tell myself, feeling my face warm with embarrassment at the memory. As for reacting to outside stressors or anxiety, I can’t remember the last time I struggled to maintain my heart rate.

  Am I cured of dysautonomia? I don’t know if that’s possible. After all, my condition is physical and not mental. But clearly getting a handle on my anxiety has made a considerable difference in my quality of life. It seems I owe a lot to SMark, and the creators of Tetra Chronicles. Thanks to them, it feels like I’ve been reborn.

  Or maybe not. Now that I’m thinking about it, I find my heart is racing after all as I pass row after row of passengers, imagining their eyes on me. Why did I wear this stupid spiky jacket again? To attract gothic girls? As if I’d even know what to do if one of them came up to me. And in the meantime it’s getting me weird looks from passengers who imagine I’m some sort of biker hooligan. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s all in my head. Arg, I’m overthinking again!

  Yeah, definitely not cured, I think. It seems roleplaying at real life is a bit harder than playing a character in TC.

  I find myself in a less crowded viewing car. I feel my anxiety ease as I take a seat in front of the floor to ceiling window and watch the scenery fly by. Somehow the perfect summer weather makes me think of the relaxation protocol Tina plays for me, and I practice a few deep breaths to get my heart rate to settle down.

  I wonder what Sherbie’s doing. Or I guess that’s Herbie, now. Dang it. I miss that guy…

  I take out my phone, glad to see he’s messaged me first.

  S. Herbie: my aunt took me outto my favorite cafe for brekfast. it fells good to b back in civilization!

  He sent a selfie of himself at an outdoor table with a woman I guess is his aunt. I enlarge it, curious about my friend.

  What the heck?? He’s totally good looking! He’s like a cherub with golden curls and vaguely Italian features, with dark eyes and a roman nose. He’s handsome and he’s richer than me, how does this guy have no friends??!

  S. Herbie: btws i noticed this werid mole above my nipple in the shower mama says ihad it since I was a babay but dont rem

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Aaand he attached sixteen pictures of his nipple…

  Right. He’s an idiot. That’s why he has no friends.

  McConsoleKing: Don’t send me pictures of your boob.

  S. Herbie: sry

  S. Herbie: what r u doin. n the taxi now gng to dept store

  McConsoleKing: Riding the super bullet train to Oregon.

  S. Herbie: send pic

  I hold up my phone and snap a picture of the scenery to send it to my friend. His response is immediate.

  S. Herbie: no selfie

  Wait, he wants me to take a picture of myself? I’ve never done anything like that before. It takes me a minute to figure it out, and the result is embarrassing. I look pissed off. Should I smile? No, that’s worse. Just send the first one…

  Sending…

  Sent.

  [S. Herbie is typing…]

  S. Herbie: lol

  S. Herbie: so seroius

  S. Herbie: nice jacket

  Ugh. I feel my ears go red. I set my phone to mute notifications from the messaging app, and close it before he can say anything else annoying…

  The super bullet train takes us from Beverly Hills to Forest Grove in just over an hour. A super plane would have gotten us there even faster, but my millionaire parents would rather save a few hundred bucks than twenty minutes.

  It was sunny in CA but up here it’s pissing cats and dogs.

  “I should have checked the forecast, you were right to wear that jacket,” Mother remarks as we run for the driverless taxi. Father is on a business call, and ignores us the entire ride.

  Unfortunately the weather has moved the party inside, so the house is crowded with people. Relatives, mostly, and a few of Grandpa Cody’s old colleagues from the landscaping company he used to work for, and the neighbors. Among them is a chunky twelve year old girl I don’t know in black and white makeup, looking like an overstuffed sausage in her fishnets and miniskirt and wearing a Joy Division tee. Her soulless little eyes light up the minute she sees me in my spiky leather jacket.

  Kill me. Kill me right now.

  In a split second I ditch the coat, throwing it into the first closet I find and slamming the door. But it’s too late. The damage is already done.

  She takes a moment to find her courage, then starts coming this way. No! No, get back! God, there’s no where to run!

  “H-hey,” she waddles up to me, smelling strongly of body odor and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. “My name’s Mira but all my friends call me Raven.”

  I ignore her and move to the snack table, pretending to be very interested in getting myself a cup of punch. She follows me.

  “I liked your coat, by the way.”

  “It’s not mine.”

  “You like goth music?”

  “I don’t know any.”

  “I like music that reminds me of my pain.”

  I choke on my punch and go into a mini coughing fit.

  “How old do I look to you?” she asks. “People say I look sixteen.”

  “You look twelve. And you have lipstick on your teeth.”

  “Don’t you think life is pain?” she says after taking a minute to wipe the black lipstick from her teeth with a Cheeto stained finger. “I wrote a poem about it. They call this life, I call it chains. I walk alone, in the razor rain. With velvet bones…”

  “Grandpa Cody!”

  I’ve never been so happy to see the old man in my life. I rush over to his side to bend and give him an awkward hug.

  He looks cheerful, though frailer than I remember. He gets around in his motorized wheelchair, attended by the AI nurse bot Dad bought for him after his stroke. I have to remember he was born in 1988; he’s not a young man anymore, and his health declined rapidly after grams died. Probably, we only have a few years left with him.

  “If it isn’t my favorite grandson. Whoops, did I say that out loud?” he grins up at me.

  “You did, and in front of the whole family,” I grin back. “Happy Birthday, Gramps. You enjoying your party?”

  “All these people around, no way? How about you and I sneak back and play a little Titan’s Quest on the PC?”

  “I’ve played that game through with you fifty times already.”

  “Heroes of Might and Magic 3?”

  “Grandpa…”

  “Ok, ok, what about Final Fantasy 7? I finally got my hands on another PS1, runs like new. Let’s just slip to the back, no one will even miss us.”

  “They definitely will, this is your party!”

  “Damn it, it’s my birthday, I should be able to do what I want.”

  “Sorry, Grandpa. We can play later.”

  “Some party. They didn’t even hire a stripper…”

  “I don’t understand why you’d waste your money on a VR headset, you know I can’t handle that stuff,” Grandpa Cody complains to me later when the party’s over. The house is empty of guests now, there’s no one left but the cleaning bots washing dishes and sweeping up confetti.

  “It’s not a VR headset. It’s for a fully immersive game.”

  “Immersion? Like in the webcomics?”

  “Yes, like Sword Art Online, that’s what I’ve been telling you.”

  I guess it finally sinks in for the old man. “Wow. To think technology would come so far in my lifetime…” he murmurs, handling the helmet with shaky hands.

  “It’s an absolute blast. You wouldn’t believe how real it feels. And now we’ll be able to quest together. I’ll make a new level one character and show you the ropes. You can join my guild!” I say excitedly. Perhaps picking up on my enthusiasm, he smiles.

  “Sounds fun. Reminds me of high school, playing with my buddies, making a party in World of Warcraft.”

  “Exactly like that, only imagine being inside the game. I’m telling you, it’ll change your life, Gramps. In TC you can run and jump and do whatever you can imagine, and it’ll feel like your real body the whole time, only it won’t hurt, or hold you back in the least. No more wheelchair!”

  “Alright,” he chuckles. “Alright, you’ve sold me. Let’s meet up tomorrow afternoon when you get back and play together. But for tonight, we’ll game old school style.”

  “Dynasty Warriors 5?”

  “Better believe it,” he says, switching on the PS2 and unwinding the controllers. “I call Xiahou Dun.”

  “Dang it! I was too slow. Fine, I’ll take Ling Tong.”

  “What?!” Gramps always gets fired up over DW5, and turns into a kid again. It’s always fun to watch. “You’d side with those dogs of Wu?”

  “Better than Shu.”

  “Eh, you’re right about that. Alright, we’ll do free mode, The Battle of Fan Castle. Death to Guan Yu!”

  “Death to Shu!”

  “Raaaaaaa!!!”

  “Austen,” Mother pokes her head in. “Your father and I are headed to the hotel. You coming?”

  “Thanks, I’ll stay with Gramps tonight.”

  “Right. See you at the train station tomorrow morning, eight sharp. Don’t be late.”

  “I’ll get him there on time,” Grandpa assures her without turning away from the loading screen. “Oh, it’s starting. This is my jam! Dandandanan! Dandandanan!”

  “I won’t hold my breath…”

  “Let’s gooooo!”