players could log on any time to work on his or her avatar. As players completed tasks and challenges, they got points they could use to buy virtual goods.
Amelia had created an avatar that wasn’t much different from herself. Her avatar had more voluminous hair and bigger breasts, and she wore contacts, but Amelia didn’t spend any money on clothes or handbags like a lot of the other girl avatars. One Wednesday, virtual T-Bag (a stunningly buff and attractive blond) had taken virtual Amelia on his virtual private jet to virtual Rodeo Drive to model Gucci and Prada. Everyone had laughed and Amelia had blushed, but she’d quickly stuffed her virtual Jimmy Choos in her virtual closet.
Instead, she used points to buy more and more complicated weapons to fight bad guys. She’d quickly mastered nunchucks and daggers. She was saving up for a master sword, like the one Uma Thurman used in Kill Bill , to fight a Russian terrorist named Boris, the virtual creation of a small and timid red-headed girl from Minnesota who had been playing ZOSTRA for four years and had serious skills.
Amelia was shooting virtual clay pigeons when another avatar appeared on the right side of her screen. It was George. He didn’t say anything, just started shooting clay pigeons next to her. He was better than she was and, when they’d finished the round, she sent him an Instant Message to tell him so. The IM popped up in a speech bubble above her avatar. In the bubble above his, he said, “You’re quickly surpassing me, young grasshopper.”
“There are too many pigeons to shoot. It’s getting more difficult to see them all.”
“That’s what happens as you get better.”
“Maybe I don’t want to get better.”
“Then how will you beat Boris?”
“Maybe beating Boris isn’t the only point of the game.”
There was a pause. Amelia anxiously watched the speech bubble above George’s head. Finally, he responded.
“I think some players have talents that are so exceptional they have a responsibility to use them, even if it’s hard.”
“Then I’ll stop getting better.”
“You can’t. It’s not in your nature.”
Amelia felt tears welling up in her eyes again. “I don’t like this, George,” she typed.
“You’re the strongest woman I know, Amelia. In addition to being the smartest and the most beautiful. You can do this, I know you can.”
Her eyes hung on the word “beautiful,” and she felt a single hot tear roll down her cheek.
She waited, feeling her heartbeat slow down. She wasn’t sure why, but she suddenly, desperately, wished George were there.
She typed, “I wish you were here,” and stared at the blinking cursor at the end of the phrase, without clicking send.
Just send it, she thought, her finger resting on the Enter key. But just then another message popped up in the speech bubble above virtual George’s head. “Have to sign off. Good luck tomorrow. Let me know how it goes.”
Just as well, Amelia thought, as she backspaced the line and instead sent, “I will. Thanks, George. For everything.”
CHAPTER 13:
Tell Me Your Secrets,
I’ll Tell You Mine
T . J.’s alarm went off at 5:30 a.m., but he was already awake, feeling guilty about what he’d said to his father the night before. It was unnecessarily harsh and dramatic. Ted hadn’t been trying to egg T. J. on. Probably he had only wanted to hear what had happened. Shit, he was probably even trying to have a civil conversation with T. J. and just didn’t know how to go about it in an uncompetitive way.
T.J. pulled on a pair of shorts, laced up his tennis shoes, and headed to the hotel gym.
He was surprised to hear someone already there, running hard on the treadmill, and even more surprised when he saw that it was Patty.
He stepped on the treadmill next to her and started upping the speed on the belt. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
“Nope!” she said, pulling an ear bud out of her right ear, then replacing it, politely
Amelia had created an avatar that wasn’t much different from herself. Her avatar had more voluminous hair and bigger breasts, and she wore contacts, but Amelia didn’t spend any money on clothes or handbags like a lot of the other girl avatars. One Wednesday, virtual T-Bag (a stunningly buff and attractive blond) had taken virtual Amelia on his virtual private jet to virtual Rodeo Drive to model Gucci and Prada. Everyone had laughed and Amelia had blushed, but she’d quickly stuffed her virtual Jimmy Choos in her virtual closet.
Instead, she used points to buy more and more complicated weapons to fight bad guys. She’d quickly mastered nunchucks and daggers. She was saving up for a master sword, like the one Uma Thurman used in Kill Bill , to fight a Russian terrorist named Boris, the virtual creation of a small and timid red-headed girl from Minnesota who had been playing ZOSTRA for four years and had serious skills.
Amelia was shooting virtual clay pigeons when another avatar appeared on the right side of her screen. It was George. He didn’t say anything, just started shooting clay pigeons next to her. He was better than she was and, when they’d finished the round, she sent him an Instant Message to tell him so. The IM popped up in a speech bubble above her avatar. In the bubble above his, he said, “You’re quickly surpassing me, young grasshopper.”
“There are too many pigeons to shoot. It’s getting more difficult to see them all.”
“That’s what happens as you get better.”
“Maybe I don’t want to get better.”
“Then how will you beat Boris?”
“Maybe beating Boris isn’t the only point of the game.”
There was a pause. Amelia anxiously watched the speech bubble above George’s head. Finally, he responded.
“I think some players have talents that are so exceptional they have a responsibility to use them, even if it’s hard.”
“Then I’ll stop getting better.”
“You can’t. It’s not in your nature.”
Amelia felt tears welling up in her eyes again. “I don’t like this, George,” she typed.
“You’re the strongest woman I know, Amelia. In addition to being the smartest and the most beautiful. You can do this, I know you can.”
Her eyes hung on the word “beautiful,” and she felt a single hot tear roll down her cheek.
She waited, feeling her heartbeat slow down. She wasn’t sure why, but she suddenly, desperately, wished George were there.
She typed, “I wish you were here,” and stared at the blinking cursor at the end of the phrase, without clicking send.
Just send it, she thought, her finger resting on the Enter key. But just then another message popped up in the speech bubble above virtual George’s head. “Have to sign off. Good luck tomorrow. Let me know how it goes.”
Just as well, Amelia thought, as she backspaced the line and instead sent, “I will. Thanks, George. For everything.”
CHAPTER 13:
Tell Me Your Secrets,
I’ll Tell You Mine
T . J.’s alarm went off at 5:30 a.m., but he was already awake, feeling guilty about what he’d said to his father the night before. It was unnecessarily harsh and dramatic. Ted hadn’t been trying to egg T. J. on. Probably he had only wanted to hear what had happened. Shit, he was probably even trying to have a civil conversation with T. J. and just didn’t know how to go about it in an uncompetitive way.
T.J. pulled on a pair of shorts, laced up his tennis shoes, and headed to the hotel gym.
He was surprised to hear someone already there, running hard on the treadmill, and even more surprised when he saw that it was Patty.
He stepped on the treadmill next to her and started upping the speed on the belt. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
“Nope!” she said, pulling an ear bud out of her right ear, then replacing it, politely
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