You're It: A Forbidden, Dad's Best Friend, Laser Tag Romance

1. Savvy

IN TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS of extremely questionable decision-making, entering this bathroom may be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.

All the signs were there: the dry-heave-worthy smell, the flickering fluorescent lights, the fact that the tiles are brown when I know they used to be blue… All signs pointed to a truly dreadful pee-elimination experience. If I had any other choice at all, I would have turned around and driven down the street to the nearest fast-food place.

Unfortunately, the mocha latte I drank on the way here is ready to make me wet myself for the first time since I was six—okay, eight—and the time for such luxury has come and gone. Drastic measures need to be taken, and in this case, that means braving the Texas Chainsaw Massacre of bathrooms.

“Have fun,” Raven calls after me, exuding a level of mocking amusement that only a lifelong best friend can get away with. She’d peeked into the bathroom too and decided she could wait to release her three sips of water in the wild.

Lucky bitch.

“Ew, ew, ew.”I edge inside, taking care to avoid the puddle of something that’s settled on the grimy floor.

How the hell did it get this bad? The last time I visited Dad at work, maybe a year ago, Galactic Guild had been the same as it always was. Sure, the neon sign out front hadn’t lit up in the better part of a decade and the snack bar boasted a health hazard or two, but even that wasn’t unusual. There was still a birthday party running around screaming in the arena, a DnD campaign hunched over the table in the back room, and a handful of teenagers in the arcade trying to pretend they were too cool for Dance Dance Revolution.

My eyes burn as I step over what appears to be a desiccated hotdog. Everything was normal, damn it. Dad was his usual cheerful but distracted self, the business was busy but run-down, and I told him I was happy but lied. Was that the last ordinary day we spent together before—nope. Not going there. I know emotional quicksand when I see it, and I don’t have time for that kind of self-sabotage right now.

Being careful to breathe through my mouth, I pause, staring helplessly at the lone corner stall. The rusty metal door is closed, but if the inside is anything like the rest of this bathroom, I’m going to need a shower, and possibly a hepatitis shot, once this is over. Still, my bladder is pleading for relief. If I so much as sneeze right now, it’s game over, and I know what needs to be done.

Summoning my courage, I nudge the bottom of the door with my boot, and—Instant regret.

Somehow, the small space is even more appalling than the rest of the bathroom.

I’m not sure where to look first. At the giant, crusty poop jutting triumphantly from a few inches of murky water, at the toilet paper hanging over the rim, or the dirty plunger stuck to the ceiling. I settle on gazing, in muted disbelief and horror, at the words graffitied on the wall above the whole shit show.

Caleb’s CaCa Lies Here is written in black marker and accompanied by an arrow, directing my attention back to the writer’s dubious creation.

My head drops to the side, morbid curiosity delaying my inevitable vomit and/or pants peeing. Without thinking, I step away, and the heel of my sneaker comes down on something crusty. Oh god. The hotdog. My stomach rolls and—Okay. I’m done.

Not waiting around for a football-sized rat, supervillain, or zombie to appear from the shadows of this godforsaken wasteland, I book it.

Raven is where I left her, leaning against the opposite wall, and cackles when I vault back through the door. “That bad?”

“Worse,” I whine, looking around frantically, as though a usable toilet is going to appear out of nowhere. “And Caleb really needs to seek professional help. There’s no way he’s getting even close to enough fiber in his diet.”

“Who’s Caleb?”

“No idea.”

Raven looks back toward the bathroom, confusion written all over her face. “Can’t you just… hover over it?”

I scoff, gesturing helplessly to my lower half. “No! Look at these things!” My legs are pretty decent, or so I’ve always thought. They’re strong, curvy, and don’t regrow waxed hair too fast. What they are not, however, is long enough to hover over whatever viral plague is replicating on that toilet seat. Raven, with her tall-girl privilege, couldn’t imagine.

Without another word, I dart off toward the lobby and shove open the grimy glass door. Galactic Guild occupies three quarters of an aging strip mall, located just a little too far from town to attract much foot traffic. The only other business in sight, an after-school karate place, is closed.

There’s only one option left.

Trying to run with your thighs pressed together is easier said than done, but I manage a kind of rapid waddle around the back of the building. There’s only forest back here, and I hardly bother to confirm I’m alone before scurrying down the embankment and ripping my pants down.

Tree bark cutting into my back is a fair sacrifice for the relief I feel as my pee hits the forest floor.

Holy crap. That was awful.

A crunching of pine needles makes my heart stall, but as I turn toward the hill, I see it’s only Raven with a stack of napkins in hand. “You’ve been shamed enough, so I won’t even hold these hostage until you agree to go to that slam poetry night with me. I’m a good friend like that.”

I groan in thanks. “You’re so nice to me.”

“I know. I’ve grown fond of this nonsense.” She turns away with a long sigh, allowing me the opportunity to pull my pants up without an audience. “So, if Stone weren’t dead, I’d be pretty pissed at him for leaving you with this mess.”

“This mess”being my inheritance of a failing laser tag arena, a pile of medical bills, and a house he mortgaged into the stratosphere to keep said business afloat. In Dad’s defense, he hadn’t expected to be dead at forty- five. I’m sure he thought he had time, that he could work his way out of the hole and make Galactic Guild as successful as it was decades ago. Unfortunately, having more time isn’t a right, and now the asshole gets to float through the afterlife scot-free while I struggle under the burden of his poor decisions.

I make too many of those on my own to be saddled with anyone else’s, thank you very much.

“Come on.” I kick some leaves over the dirty napkins. “The realtor will be here soon.”

Sure enough, when Raven and I round the building, a shiny white sports car is parked beside my beat-up sedan. Its owner, a middle-aged Black woman who looks like she’s never had a bad hair day in her life, is stepping out onto the cracked asphalt.

“Hi, Amy?” I approach, smiling brightly, as though her impression of me will change the market value of my shitty inheritance.

Amy shakes my hand confidently, her eyes already tracking over the weeds poking out of the sidewalk and the broken pinball machine stationed beside the front door. “Good to meet you, Sally.”

“It’s Savvy, actually,” I correct, trying not to grimace.

No one in the history of anywhere has been as poorly named as me. It was pretty optimistic of my parents to give it to me, considering neither of them were ever particularly functional adults and had no business bringing another human being into the world. In a predictable but cruel twist of fate, I am probably the least savvy Savvy that’s ever lived.

Not like Amy; she would have been a good Savvy, I can tell.

“Of course. I apologize, I had terrible service when we spoke on the phone,” she says smoothly, offering Raven a polite smile before returning to her examination of the building. “You inherited this property recently?”

“I—yeah. My father’s owned it since I was very young, but he passed away a few weeks ago.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” She adjusts the strap of her expensive-looking bag, frowning. “Listen, I won’t mince words here. The listing price you mentioned isn’t realistic. You’re about five miles past city limits, and it’s not retail friendly. Have there been any updates?”

“Updates?”

“The roof, electrical system?” she suggests, raising her eyebrows, and I want to shrivel up and die on the spot.

Raven—bless her—saves me from responding. “Nope. No updates. Stone wasn’t big on capital improvement. He was a firm believer in letting everything go to hell, then patching it up with some duct tape.”

Amy’s lack of reaction to this is a testament of her professionalism. “I see.”

“Listen,” I plead, clamping down on the tightening in my chest, which promises a full-blown breakdown is imminent. “I just need to break even. I’m seriously not looking to make a profit or anything, I just want to get rid of this place and pay off the debt. What would it sell for? Realistically.”

The obviously savvy Amy produces a sheet of paper and hands it to me. The handwritten number she’s circled at the top makes my stomach plummet right through the cracked asphalt. “Commercial space isn’t in demand at the moment, and less ideal properties will sit on the market for a while,” she explains, glancing back at the strip mall with a sympathetic look.

Oh god.

Sensing the spiral is nearly upon us, Raven loops her arm through mine and asks confidently, “What would you recommend?”

Amy doesn’t miss a beat. “Get the business up and running.” She nods toward the burnt-out neon lettering that spells out Galactic Guild Arena in a bold, futuristic script. “It would be a lot easier to sell a profitable, operational business than the building. Then, once you get the other owner on board?—”

I choke. “Excuse me? Other owner?”

“I checked the city’s database when I got your call.” She produces another document. “It’s possible there was some kind of recording error.”

There wasn’t.

I know it as soon as I read the first line, which heads up a very official, legal-looking deed of sale. Galactic Guild Arena’s money troubles weren’t new. Apparently, Dad had been bailing the place out for far longer than I knew, going so far as to sell off half the business to?—

“I’m going to use Stone’s ashes in Arnold’s litter box,” Raven hisses savagely, her grip on my arm tightening.

Someone is making a weird, hysterical laughing noise now, but it isn’t coming from either of the other women I’m standing with. It’s only after I look around wildly, searching for the source, that I realize it’s me.

Oh good, mental spiral engaged, right on schedule.

While normally I’d be pretty embarrassed to be full-on losing it in front of a stranger who so clearly has her crap together, I’m so far past caring at the moment. What’s worse than inheriting one failing business and a worthless property? When it turns out that you only own half of it, and your dad sold the other half to a man you were hoping never to see again.

“We’ll, uh, call you!” Raven assures Amy, steering me back toward the door of Galactic Guild.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening.” I gasp through peals of laughter as we enter the darkened lobby, using my sleeve to wipe my eyes.

Raven is muttering under her breath as she deposits me in one of the snack-bar chairs. “I’m going to slap you if you don’t stop making that noise,” she warns, but despite knowing from experience that this is not an idle threat, I’m helpless.

The hollow, conflicted grief that Ive felt since Dad passed is sharper now, more bitter, because how could he have done this? How could he have poured every single penny he had, and plenty of other people’s too, into something that was objectively a failure?

Stone Laurence ruined himself, died, and now it’s on me to clean up the mess?

Me, who thought it was a good idea to let my college roommate pierce my nipples because her cousin was apprenticing at a tattoo shop, and “she totally told me what to do”.

Me, who decided a company called Nice n’ Cheap Protection was a legitimate source for car insurance.

Me, who has failed or quit every single thing I’ve ever started.

I’ve been a legal adult for under a decade, and already, life has chewed me up and spit me back out. I doubt there’s anyone less qualified to work their way out of a shit show of this magnitude than I am.

Unfortunately, it seems like I don’t have a choice.

“You could reject the inheritance?” Raven suggests feebly, as my ridiculous laughter dies away and the unnatural stillness of this place presses in on me. “That’s a thing, right?”

It is a thing; I looked it up. However, in yet another testament to my un- savviness, it’s too late for that. “I used his life insurance to pay some bills,” I confess, staring at the faded purple carpet, hollowed out and numb with disbelief. “This place is mine, whether I want it or not.”

Not just mine, though. Nope. And it’s saying a lot that in a morning full of unpleasant surprises, finding out who owns the other half of Galactic Guild is worse than even Caleb’s caca.