Read Online An Infinite Number of Parallel Universes by Randy Ribay - Free Book Online
Authors: Randy Ribay
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sobbing.
It’s so embarrassing, to lose it like a crazy person out of nowhere, for a reason Archie can’t possibly understand. But it’s out of her control. She can’t stop thinking about her mom dying. She can’t stop feeling guilty that she tried not to think about it for even just a couple of hours, that she let herself worry over something stupid like a boy. She can’t stop.
Archie apologizes and leaves in such a hurry that he forgets to take his clothes from the dryer.
Mari goes up to her room, closes the door, and lies face down on her bed.
She is alone again. But she still doesn’t want to be. She musters enough energy to push herself off the bed, grab her keys, and head out the door.
• • •
Mari pulls the car into an empty space in the McCluck’s parking lot, the windshield wipers swinging madly. The fluorescent interior of the fast food restaurant glows through the darkness and the rain. Only a few people are inside. She doesn’t see Dante at the register and figures he must be on the fryers.
Mari kills the engine and clicks off the lights and wipers. The synchronous
squeak-whoosh-thump
ceases. Mari’s world is swallowed by the sound of the rain drumming upon the car. The water streams down the windshield, blurring her view of McCluck’s until it melts into a distorted blob of light.
She grabs her umbrella and places her hand on the door handle, but she does not open it.
She reassures herself that Dante is the right person to ask for advice about Archie, about her mom, about contacting her birth mother. After all, he was her first real friend.
In the beginning of the sixth grade, the science teacher had partnered her with Dante, the only other black kid in class. He had been gigantic even then. Mari had sighed, assuming she had just been paired with some idiotic jock.
They were supposed to be using the scientific method to experiment with how different shapes of paper airplanes would fly. Most of the kids in the class were having a blast, launching their planes across the room and disregarding the actual assignment.
For several minutes she and Dante sat eyeing the directions page between them. Dante didn’t say anything, so Mari directed him to make the planes while she recorded the results. Dante set to folding the first plane while Mari took out her story notebook and began to write.
Dante peeked over her shoulder. “What are you writing?”
His voice was so deep it sounded like it belonged to someone twice his age. Yet at the same time, he spoke like a turtle poking its head from its shell.
“A story.” Mari turned away then, protecting the page with her arm. “Why’d you stop making the plane?”
“With like spaceships and aliens?”
Mari had pretended to continue writing. “No.”
“Dragons and stuff?”
“No. I write like real life. Only different.”
Crestfallen, Dante went back to quietly folding planes.
But then Mari turned back toward Dante. “Do you write those kind of stories?”
“I don’t write stories. I can’t. But I met some friends, and they want to play this old game one of them read about.”
“A video game or a board game?”
“Um, neither, I guess. You just make it up.”
“So there aren’t any rules?”
“There are,” Dante said, carefully lining up his next fold.
“Then I don’t get it.” Mari said. “How do you play?”
“Like I said, you make it up. First, you create characters. Then the Dungeon Master—that’s the person in charge—comes up with adventures. Then the players have to follow the game rules to beat the quests.”
“So it’s like the Dungeon Master versus everyone else?”
“Kind of, but not really,” Dante said.
“Huh? Isn’t the Dungeon Master just trying to come up with an adventure that the players can’t beat?”
“No. If the adventure is too hard then it wouldn’t be fun. Same if it’s too easy. He has to make it so that it’s in between.”
Mari thought about this for a second and then
It’s so embarrassing, to lose it like a crazy person out of nowhere, for a reason Archie can’t possibly understand. But it’s out of her control. She can’t stop thinking about her mom dying. She can’t stop feeling guilty that she tried not to think about it for even just a couple of hours, that she let herself worry over something stupid like a boy. She can’t stop.
Archie apologizes and leaves in such a hurry that he forgets to take his clothes from the dryer.
Mari goes up to her room, closes the door, and lies face down on her bed.
She is alone again. But she still doesn’t want to be. She musters enough energy to push herself off the bed, grab her keys, and head out the door.
• • •
Mari pulls the car into an empty space in the McCluck’s parking lot, the windshield wipers swinging madly. The fluorescent interior of the fast food restaurant glows through the darkness and the rain. Only a few people are inside. She doesn’t see Dante at the register and figures he must be on the fryers.
Mari kills the engine and clicks off the lights and wipers. The synchronous
squeak-whoosh-thump
ceases. Mari’s world is swallowed by the sound of the rain drumming upon the car. The water streams down the windshield, blurring her view of McCluck’s until it melts into a distorted blob of light.
She grabs her umbrella and places her hand on the door handle, but she does not open it.
She reassures herself that Dante is the right person to ask for advice about Archie, about her mom, about contacting her birth mother. After all, he was her first real friend.
In the beginning of the sixth grade, the science teacher had partnered her with Dante, the only other black kid in class. He had been gigantic even then. Mari had sighed, assuming she had just been paired with some idiotic jock.
They were supposed to be using the scientific method to experiment with how different shapes of paper airplanes would fly. Most of the kids in the class were having a blast, launching their planes across the room and disregarding the actual assignment.
For several minutes she and Dante sat eyeing the directions page between them. Dante didn’t say anything, so Mari directed him to make the planes while she recorded the results. Dante set to folding the first plane while Mari took out her story notebook and began to write.
Dante peeked over her shoulder. “What are you writing?”
His voice was so deep it sounded like it belonged to someone twice his age. Yet at the same time, he spoke like a turtle poking its head from its shell.
“A story.” Mari turned away then, protecting the page with her arm. “Why’d you stop making the plane?”
“With like spaceships and aliens?”
Mari had pretended to continue writing. “No.”
“Dragons and stuff?”
“No. I write like real life. Only different.”
Crestfallen, Dante went back to quietly folding planes.
But then Mari turned back toward Dante. “Do you write those kind of stories?”
“I don’t write stories. I can’t. But I met some friends, and they want to play this old game one of them read about.”
“A video game or a board game?”
“Um, neither, I guess. You just make it up.”
“So there aren’t any rules?”
“There are,” Dante said, carefully lining up his next fold.
“Then I don’t get it.” Mari said. “How do you play?”
“Like I said, you make it up. First, you create characters. Then the Dungeon Master—that’s the person in charge—comes up with adventures. Then the players have to follow the game rules to beat the quests.”
“So it’s like the Dungeon Master versus everyone else?”
“Kind of, but not really,” Dante said.
“Huh? Isn’t the Dungeon Master just trying to come up with an adventure that the players can’t beat?”
“No. If the adventure is too hard then it wouldn’t be fun. Same if it’s too easy. He has to make it so that it’s in between.”
Mari thought about this for a second and then
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