Phantasos Read online

  “Is he coming?” Benji asked.

  Alley looked left and right, studying the faces in the crowd. “I don’t see him.”

  “Good.”

  “Do you really think he’s that cheesed off at you?”

  The bike lock clicked open and Benji yanked his Huffy free. “Yeah, I do, Al. You weren’t there. You should have seen how angry his stupid, fat face looked.”

  “What’d you just say, Benjamin Bauer?”

  Benji gulped. Without having to turn around, he immediately recognized the voice behind him.

  Alley mouthed the words: “I’m sorry! I didn’t see him.”

  “Get your ass over here, wastoid,” Rodney yelled. “We got a score to settle.”

  Three

  DANNY WAS SWEEPING THE REAR CORNER of the arcade, where the Centaur pinball table once was, aggravated by Todd’s lack of help. Moving around heavy arcade cabinets was a two-person job, at least; probably more if Planet X could afford the extra staff. Yet, Danny was the one stuck making the necessary arrangements, despite Todd’s earlier promises that he would help.

  “I’ll get it to you next Wednesday,” Danny heard Todd yell from the office. “Next Wednesday is the earliest—well, whatever, screw you too, lady!” Then, the sound of a phone receiver slamming down.

  He’s arguing with debt collectors again, Danny thought. This is it; we’re really going to tank. For a moment Danny stared at the Phantasos machine, still yet to be plugged in, and tried to ignore the sour feeling it was giving him. An extra five hundred dollars a month would go a long way towards returning Planet X to its former glory.

  Todd came storming from the back office.

  “This isn’t done yet, Dan?”

  “Hey, dude, I’m trying—”

  “It’s the last day of school, for Chrissake! This is a big day for us, in a couple of hours this place will be swarming with kids!”

  “I’m trying the best I can,” Danny said firmly.

  Todd put his hands on his hips, looked around the arcade, then put a palm to his forehead. “Listen, I’m sorry man, I know I said I would help you with all of this. I got caught up with some things, and—”

  “It’s okay,” Danny said, sweeping a clump of dirt and hair and three-year-old popcorn kernels into a dustpan.

  “I’ve been pretty miserable around here lately, haven’t I?” Todd said. He clicked his tongue and stared off at the front window of Planet X. “I get this way around this time of year.” He shook his head. “I get into one of my moods. I find myself thinking about the day that Shelly left me.”

  Danny didn’t know what to say or how to react. Todd rarely spoke of his former fiancé, Shelly. It was a sore subject, so Danny tried to avoid it at all costs. The mere mention of her name typically brought feelings of anger, resentment, and sadness along with it.

  Sensing the uncomfortable silence in the room Todd said, “I know I’ve been bugging out about the arcade, too. But it’s all going to turn around, you’ll see—”

  Knock. Knock.

  A rap at the front door interrupted Todd’s apology; he turned to face the door, cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, “We’re not open yet!”

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  The knocks were slower and more deliberate this time. Todd huffed, raised his eyebrows and said to Danny, “The hours are posted on the damn door. Some people just can’t read, huh?”

  Danny shrugged.

  “Wait here, I’ll take care of this,” Todd said, and he stomped away towards the front entrance.

  “Hey,” he said, opening the door. “I said we’re not open—” he paused, intimidated by the large fellow in front of him, “yet.”

  “I’m well aware,” the man at the door said. “I’ll only be needing a moment of your time.” The gentleman was dressed in a slim-fitting black suit, and right away Todd wondered how much it cost and why someone would wear such an outfit in the middle of summer.

  “What can I help you with?” Todd said, standing in the doorway, blocking the entrance.

  The gentleman took off his hat. “Please,” he said, “you are Mr. Todd Prower, correct?”

  Todd felt his heart leap into his throat and swallowed hard. A stranger in a clean suit who knew Todd by name…It’s a debt collector, Todd thought, and for a moment he imagined how quickly he could escape through the rear exit. Probably not fast enough. And besides, that wouldn’t be fair to Danny, leaving the poor guy alone while a team of strangers seized the arcade’s assets—

  “Excuse me, but are you feeling ill, Mr. Prower?” the stranger asked. The stranger extended a gloved hand. “My name is Herman Varghese; I’m here on behalf of the Vidtronix Games Corporation. I believe we spoke on the phone last week.”

  “Vid…Vidtronix?” Todd stuttered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Todd slapped his forehead. “Vidtronix! Of course, Mr. Varghese, please, come right in,” and he held the door open for his visitor. “Can I offer you a glass of water? Soda pop? Cotton candy?”

  Mr. Varghese smiled politely. “No, thank you, that won’t be necessary. I’ll be in and out, lickety-split. Your Phantasos machine was delivered this morning, without a hitch I hope?”

  “Yes, sir, it was,” Todd said, and he cleared his throat. “It’s right this way,” he said, and he led Mr. Varghese towards the center of the room.

  “Ah, there she is,” Mr. Varghese said, standing before the great cabinet. “Phantasos.” He clasped his hands together, and it unnerved Todd; the suit, the gloves—it was 89 degrees outside for goodness sake! And, on top of those peculiarities, Mr. Varghese was standing before Phantasos, looking at the machine like a lost lover that he hadn’t seen in years.

  “I am thrilled that the delivery went well,” Mr. Varghese said. “Last week we had a delivery to an arcade in Portland, and the deliverymen dropped the damn thing. She is a bit top-heavy, a problem that I guarantee will be resolved in the final production models.” Mr. Varghese slid his hand across the control panel of the machine, the dark buttons clicking beneath his fingers. “Caused $1,300 worth of repairs, those fellows in Portland. Unreal. They’re very delicate machines, you must be careful with them.”

  Danny, who was standing nearby, couldn’t help but laugh to himself. Arcade cabinets were meant to be sturdy, meant to stand up to abuse. A good cabinet had to be able to take a beating, take slaps of frustration and anger, and soda spills, and all of the mistreatments that come with losing at a video game. Danny thought of the vicious runts who would be filling the arcade in a couple of hours; Phantasos wasn’t going to last a minute.

  “Is everything okay?” Todd said. “I mean, your visit—”

  “Ah,” Mr. Varghese said, “nothing to worry about. I am here to perform the final calibrations on the machine, nothing more. Is this where you will keep it?”

  “Yep,” Todd said. “That’s the spot. We don’t plan on moving it from there.”

  “And have you plugged it in yet?”

  “Nope.”

  Mr. Varghese smiled. “Wonderful, just wonderful. I love to be present when they’re turned on for the first time. Go ahead and plug her in now.”

  Todd nodded to Danny, and Danny dropped to the floor. He ran the plug from the machine into a power strip, then the power strip into a socket behind the cabinet.

  Phantasos hummed and came to life. The white panel at the top of it blinked a few times, then remained lit, brightly illuminating the name of the machine.

  Mr. Varghese smiled, grabbed a long key from a suit pocket, and knelt beside the machine. He inserted the key into a lock concealed on the side of the machine, and a small door into the cabinet opened.

  “Some final adjustments,” he said. “I’ll only be a moment, then she’s all yours.”

  Mr. Varghese had left, and the arcade would be open in an hour or so. Danny and Todd stood before Phantasos, examining the machine, neither knowing quite what to make of it.

  “Don’t you want to try it?” Todd asked.


  “I’ll pass,” Danny said. “That guy gave me the creeps. But, by all means, go ahead. Do the honors.”

  Todd grinned, plunked four quarters into the front coin slot, and Phantasos groaned to life. A quiet choir of singing emanated from a speaker on top of the cabinet—Danny thought it was a bit dramatic. As the singing crescendoed, a dark headset descended from the top of the cabinet until it was nearly eyelevel with Todd. Todd stood in front of the headset and pressed his face into it, then rested his fingers on the round, plastic buttons in front of him. He pulled down on the goggles gently—Mr. Varghese said they were adjustable, to accommodate players of varying heights—and began to play.

  Danny stood to the side, watching his friend play. Todd’s mouth hung open, speechless.

  “Well?” Danny finally asked, tired of waiting for some commentary.

  “Danny,” Todd said, “it is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

  Danny watched his friend pull on a joystick and play his new game, but then he shivered, and had to turn to look behind himself, just to make sure that there was no one there.

  Four

  NONE OF THE OTHER STUDENTS STOPPED or seemed to notice the confrontation that was unfolding. On any typical Wednesday afternoon a fight in the parking lot would transform Grand Ridge High from high school to coliseum, the students circling around and cheering for blood.

  But it was no typical Wednesday; class had just let out for the summer. The students running free could care less about some petty squabble between Rodney Frye and Benjamin Bauer; which was probably for the best, Benji thought, because if the parking lot were a coliseum then Rodney was the lion and Benji was undoubtedly the peasant thrown to the slaughter.

  “Get on the bike,” Benji whispered, and Alley did as he was told; he hopped onto the rear wheel pegs, where he always stood when he rode with Benji.

  “Planning on going somewhere, Bauer?” Rodney asked. “Because the way I see it, you owe me a Walkman, and I want partial payment upfront—now.”

  “Leave me alone, Rodney,” Benji said, and he saddled the bike.

  “You two really look adorable, you know, a couple of regular queers taking an afternoon bike ride together.”

  Benji felt the blood run to his face. Rodney was well aware of why Alley didn’t ride his own bike; hell, the whole school knew. Alley’s health had been compromised since birth by a debilitating condition—a long word with too many syllables that Benji always had trouble pronouncing. Alley couldn’t run, he never participated in P.E. class, and he could never ride his own bike.

  For Rodney to make light of it was insensitive. It was cruel.

  “You’re such an asshole, Rodney,” Benji said, and before Rodney could get close enough he leaned down and stabbed a pen through the front tire of Rodney’s bike.

  “Now you’ve gone and done it, you miserable twerp.”

  “Catch me now, chubs,” Benji yelled, and he peeled off towards the parking lot, towards the street home.

  Rodney stomped in place beside the bike rack, waving his fist in the air. “You’ll pay for this, Bauer. You can’t afford it, but you’ll pay for this.”

  Benji wheezed and panted, lungs burning, rocketing his Huffy down Shady Reach. Alley held on for dear life, his hands clutched to Benji’s shoulders, white knuckled.

  “Why…are you going…so fast,” Alley murmured. All of the excitement had worked him up, made it hard for him to talk. “You shredded…his tire…no one can run this fast…least of all…Rodney Frye…”

  “Hey, are you okay?” Benji asked, recognizing the long gaps in Alley’s speech.

  Alley thought: thought about the anger on Rodney’s face that made his heart speed up and his lips turn white; thought about the speed at which he was barreling down Shady Reach; thought about his illness and how he wasn’t wearing a helmet, and if he fell off, how his head would hit the cement and bleed and bleed and bleed…

  “I’m okay,” Alley lied, just wanting to feel like a normal teenage boy, not wanting Benji to know how close he was to fainting.

  Benji looked behind them, saw that they were alone on Shady Reach, and slowed his pedaling. Gently, the bike cruised along the sidewalk.

  Alley caught his breath, felt better, loosened his grip on Benji’s shoulders. “I still don’t understand what happened to that baboon’s Walkman,” Alley said, “but he’s going to kick your ass for puncturing his bike tire like that.”

  “I’m not worried about it. Rodney spends every summer in Florida with his dad, comes back every fall to rub it in our faces about the time he spent at Disney World and the beach. By the time he gets back, he’ll have cooled off.”

  “That’s your plan, then?” Alley said. “That he’ll just forget about it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Even for you, Benji, that’s a stupid plan.”

  Benji pedaled up to the front porch of the Emerson household. Alley hopped off, stumbled to the front door, and opened it. Benji followed close behind.

  “What happened?” Lauren yelled.

  “What?” Alley asked.

  Lauren ignored Alley, looked right at Benji and said, “How fast did you two come down that damn hill?”

  “Not too fast, mom,” Benji said mockingly.

  “I’m serious,” Lauren said, hands on hips and eyebrows raised. “He’s ghost-white. You know how he gets when he’s excited. You’re his best friend, you should know better.”

  “We had to outrun Rodney Frye,” Alley said. “It was gnarly.”

  “What is he talking about?” Lauren asked.

  Benji was standing by the fridge, popping open a can of Pepsi he helped himself to. “Rodney Frye wants me dead, what else is new?”

  “Why?”

  “I busted his Walkman. Or, so he thinks. I didn’t really. Also, I flattened his bike tire. That I really did do.”

  “God, Benji,” Lauren said as she plopped onto the living room couch. “I don’t want you scrapping with Rodney Frye with my little brother around. He could get hurt.”

  “Hey, I’m fine,” Alley interjected

  “You should have taken the bus home with me,” Lauren said.

  “I like to ride with Benji,” Alley said. “I like to feel the wind on my face. He goes fast.”

  Lauren shook her head.

  “Will you take a chill pill?” Benji said, and he fell down next to Lauren. “I got him home safe and sound. It’s summer! We should be celebrating.” Benji reached up, gave Alley a high-five, and Alley took a seat in the recliner beside them.

  Lauren turned her head, shot Benji a look through her glasses. She looked cute, Benji thought, her hair falling to her shoulders in big waves. “Are we still on for the bonfire tonight?” she asked.

  “It’s a summer vacation tradition,” Benji said.

  “It’s not a tradition if we’ve only done it one other time,” Lauren clarified.

  “Whatever, noid,” Benji said. “My house, 8 PM. You got that?” he asked Alley, who was already lost in a rerun of Full House.

  “Got it,” Alley said with a nod, not bothering to take his eyes off the screen.

  “Great,” Benji said. “Be there or be square.”

  Just across the street from the Emerson household, in Benji’s backyard, the friends assembled late into the night. Alley stretched out on a hammock; Benji and Lauren sat on a couple of cheap lawn chairs. The three were circled around a small fire pit in the Bauer’s backyard, twenty feet or so from Benji’s aboveground pool.

  “To a year of U.S. Government,” Lauren said, and she saluted with her fingers. She said, “God bless President Bush, God bless the Electoral College, and…I don’t know, God bless at least one hundred other useless things I learned about this year.” She smiled, picked up her U.S. Government notebook, and tossed it into the fire pit before her. The papers hit the small blaze with a whoosh and quickly turned from white, to yellow, to black, and then to ash.

  “Hear, hear,” Benji and Alley said
in unison.

  “All right,” Lauren said. “It’s your turn.”

  Benji reached forward, picked up a composition notebook and said, “God bless Mr. Crandall and his crappy classroom policies. God bless spelling and grammar and The Scarlett Letter. God bless Mr. Crandall’s awful cigarette breath, and God bless Rodney Frye’s Walkman.” Benji sneered and heaved his composition notebook into the flames, where it was swallowed quickly and without mercy.

  Simultaneously, Lauren and Alley said: “Hear, hear.”

  “Okay,” Benji said. “It’s your turn, Al.”

  Alley was sprawled out on the hammock, fingers laced behind his head, his palms a pillow. He was staring up at the twilight sky, and maybe his eyes had finally adjusted or it had finally gotten dark enough, but to him it seemed that every star was shining. He smiled at the big dipper, watched the moon climb on the horizon, and for a second he thought he saw a shooting star pass by.

  “Uh, little brother. Earth to space cadet,” Lauren said, and she snapped her fingers. “It’s your turn.”

  Alley smiled, turned his head and said, “I didn’t bring anything.”

  “What do you mean?” Benji said. “It’s how we send off the school year.”

  “I had a good year. No, I had a great year,” Alley said, and he sighed. “I want to keep my notes I took on The Great Gatsby, because I really liked the book. I suppose I could have brought some pre-algebra problems to burn, but even math class was okay this year. It’s like—this is the best it’s ever been.”

  Benji and Lauren smiled; they both understood. Lauren fought back some tears, not wanting to cry in front of her little brother. If she had cried, they’d have been tears of joy: happiness that sweet little Alley had a great year. Not an okay year, not a miserable year crowded with hospital visits and weeks of missing school like so many other years before.

  He had a great year, and heaven knows that after all he’d been through, he deserved one.

  Five