permission . . . Mee Corp. is not responsible for heart attacks, seizures, brain freezes, wedgies, or charley horses experienced during play . . . If children go missing while playing Xamaica please contact local law enforcement authorities and don’t blame Mee Corp. because lots of kids disappear every year and it’s unfair to blame video games for everything.
“Wouldn’t it be boss if we both made it?” Eli said to Dylan. “We could be a team!”
“But you hardly even play the game!”
“You never know.”
Ines was reading the list, which wasn’t alphabetical, probably to build tension and keep people guessing. First up was a tall girl named Sarah, then this kid Rawley, then two brothers, Justin and Devin, then a brother and sister, C.J. and Sasha. Players heard their names and went down to their places in the spotlights. Some kids turned out not to be in the building when their names were called. Their spots were quickly and eagerly filled. After five minutes or so, only three empty spotlights were left.
“The next lucky kid is—Chad Worthington!” Ines announced.
Chad’s beefy freckled face appeared on the big screen. He was dressed in a sweatshirt with a logo of a tree and a bird baring its claws—the Fighting Bird logo of Asgard Prep, a super-exclusive private school on the good side of town.
“Chad used to go to private school before his dad became superintendent of public schools,” Eli pointed out. “I’m sure if his dad ever leaves his high-paying government gig, Chad will go right back to Asgard and all his rich buddies.”
Chad gave high-fives and chest-bumps to some of his fellow Fighting Birds and took his place in the spotlight.
“Two more shots,” Eli said.
Dylan felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“The next lucky contestant: Elizondo Niall Marquez!”
The crowd went crazy again, and Dylan’s jaw dropped as he looked at Eli, who just grinned and wheeled himself down to his spotlight.
There was one spot left. Would Dylan get it? Or had Mee Corp. uncovered his secret?
Ines smiled. “And the final Game Changer is . . .”
“Ariel November!” Ines announced.
The crowd cheered wildly.
Dylan felt his heart shrink three sizes.
He was finished. He hadn’t been picked. Game over.
The world was a blur. Eli was saying something. Emma was shaking her head.
He had been fooling himself. Of course he wasn’t a Game Changer! Nothing good ever happened to him. He was just another middle school loser. And now it was time for him to go home to his loserdom, his epic fail life, his kitchenette of cockatoos, and his urine-flavored lemonade bought in bulk. This time he’d drink the whole friggin’ glass and if he was lucky it would kill him.
“Ariel?” Ines called out. “Mr. or Ms. November? Going once, going twice . . .”
The crowd murmured. Ariel November, whoever he or she was, wasn’t there.
Ines stroked her long black hair. “No worries . . . We’ll just move on to our alternate . . . Dylan Rudee!”
The crowd roared again. Dylan didn’t know what to think. Did they really call his name?
“Dylan, come on down!”
His name! He was somebody. He was one of the best gamers in town. He thought of all the kids at school who called him nerd or loser or Loopy or worse. Maybe they were watching him on TV. He finally had one thing that he did well and it was games. And not only that, he had a way of playing this particular game that nobody else had. Then a note of doubt echoed through Dylan’s head—what if he really wasn’t one of the best? What if he was really just a sneaky kid with inside info?
“C’mon, Dylan,” Emma cheered. “Go on down!”
Dylan couldn’t feel his legs, but somehow he was moving. Everything seemed like one of those dreams where you know you’re dreaming. He came down from the stands into the spotlight and saw his face on the big screen; in front of him he saw Eli smiling.
“Sweet!” Eli shouted. “Sweeeeeeeeet!”
Just then, Chad threw an elbow that caught Dylan in the nose and knocked him down. He tasted blood in his mouth. The crowd, which saw the hit on the screen, let out a gasp.
“Man up, Loopy—’cause I’m taking you down!” Chad barked. “That’s right, I said it.” Suddenly aware that he was on camera, he mugged for the crowd. The gasps turned to cheers. He chewed hard on his gum, blew a bubble, then let loose an Olympic-sized fart. The crowd loved it. “I got my swagger back!” he boomed.
Dylan scrambled to his feet. The cheap shot returned him to reality. As he stumbled into his spotlight, his left nostril was leaking blood. He couldn’t play Xamaica like this; he thought maybe his nose was broken.
“Shhhhh. Lean forward, not back. You have to give the blood a place to go.”
Emma had come up behind him. She put her pirate doll against his nose; he hadn’t even noticed that she had brought it with her, but the darn thing made an excellent sponge. Emma pinched Dylan’s nose bridge, then rolled up the doll’s tiny felt hat and slipped it into his left nostril, stopping the bleeding.
“I-I-I didn’t know you knew how to do that,” Dylan stammered.
“There are a lot of things about me you don’t know,” Emma smiled.
“Gracias por tu ayuda!” Eli said. “That’s a good woman!”
“She’s a nine-year-old girl,” Dylan fired back. “And she carries around a pirate doll.”
Emma crossed her arms. The doll was a sore spot—Chad and his boys had stolen it once, and the whole episode was kind of a disaster. “This isn’t about me. If we lose the apartment, do you really think social services will let the Professor keep us? You have to win that prize.”
“No pressure, huh?” Dylan muttered, as Emma returned to the stands.
A countdown appeared on the big screen: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!
Naturally, Dylan and Eli chose each other as teammates. To start the game, a player had to say two and a half simple words:
“It’s on!” Dylan yelled.
* * *
The game had begun. Xamaica’s technology was a trade secret: users normally signed up online, and without a controller or any visible hardware, the game was transmitted into the field of vision of each of the players. Users were only faintly visible beneath their avatars. One time, Dylan remembered, Emma
