Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Cat
I’m at my desk, trying to eat a slice of pepperoni pizza while scrolling through Tumblr without getting grease on my keyboard and mouse, when out of the blue, Sally texts. Praying she hasn’t sent me a bill for dry-cleaning the suit I spilled wine all over, I unlock my phone and read:
Remember how we were talking about D&D last night? This is a little embarrassing but if you’re interested in joining my friends’ and my campaign, we could really use another healer. Think about it.
Embarrassing? Why embarrassing? I don’t ask, obviously, don’t reveal the fact that I think people who play D&D are cool . Instead, I reply, Sure! followed by a GIF of Dr. Mario yeeting Wario off the side of a cliff.
Then I remember that Sally doesn’t like video games. With bated breath, I wait for her to reply.
Honestly, I’m a little taken aback that she texted me to begin with, given we ran out of stuff to talk about halfway through the drive back to her place. After dropping her off and schlepping myself home, I stayed up till midnight waiting for a breakup text (I also ate an entire bag of Takis and fended off a sleuth of random-encounter bears in the game I’m currently playing so, you know, I wasn’t entirely pathetic). When by a minute past twelve it still hadn’t come, I contemplated sending it myself and putting us both out of our misery—then just as quickly abandoned the thought. If Sally still likes me (or at least who she thinks is me), who am I to ruin a good thing? As my sister likes reminding me, gamer weirdos don’t get to be picky. As my parents like reminding each other, “It’s better to be unhappy than unhappy and lonely.”
My phone pings a second later. Great! Let’s talk about it more next week.
I let out a long exhale. We’re officially entering week two of our “relationship,” and by some miracle, I haven’t chosen an irredeemably bad dialogue option yet.
On Saturdays, Lou and I get dim sum at the one Chinese restaurant I’ll eat at in Boulder. It’s run by an ancient Cantonese couple who arrived in Colorado by way of Vancouver (and before that, Hong Kong), which, fair or not, makes me automatically like their cooking more. We’re waiting for a table in a morass of irritable would-be diners when someone pushes past Lou, pitching him into me.
“Yikes,” Lou says, rubbing his arm. “I don’t know why we keep coming here week after week.”
“It has the best har gow within a hundred miles.” Several people around me smile and nod, confirming my opinion as fact.
“Is it really worth it, though?” Lou muses.
I cuff him on the shoulder to shut him up lest the aunties and uncles in our vicinity sense weakness of resolve in our party of two and surge forward, displacing us in “line.”
The crowd shuffles and we push up a foot, which puts us behind a person with their keys hanging precariously off the lip of their jeans back pocket. I study the key chain dangling against their left butt cheek (it’s a nice butt cheek) and recognize it instantly. A mini plush wolf engulfed in flames, it’s Amaterasu, the canine protagonist of the game ōkami .
Grinning, I point out the plush to Lou and mouth, Soo cute! He watched me replay ōkami a few weeks ago, but I’m still pleased to see his eyes widen in recognition.
“Cat!” he whispers, none too quietly. “It’s that wolf goddess, Amatazuzu!”
“Be cool, Lou,” I hiss back. Lou’s not a gamer, nor is he into any sprawling sci-fi or fantasy series, which means he doesn’t often encounter Easter eggs like this out in the wild. In my experience, though, just because someone is sporting a key chain or a pin or a graphic tee doesn’t mean they want to be outed as a nerd and megafan. Just like you wouldn’t see someone wearing a Pride bracelet and shout “Hello, fellow gay!” at them, you shouldn’t do anything more than smile and nod at someone showing off their fandom.
But Lou either doesn’t hear or ignores the warning in my voice, since, to my horror, he taps the owner of the plush on the shoulder. As they turn, he announces, “My friend likes your key chain.”
My vision goes black. There, standing before me and grimacing like I’m the last person she wants to see, is Andi Zhang.
She’s gripping the strap of her backpack tight enough for her knuckles to flare white. I meet her glare head-on. I wish I could say she looks ugly while frowning, but she doesn’t. She only looks haughty.
I bare my teeth at her.
“It’s Atumarazu, right?” Lou natters on, oblivious to the tension in the air.
“Amaterasu,” Andi corrects evenly. “Cat.”
“Glad to see you too,” I snap.
“You two know each other?” Lou asks, swiveling his head between us. I could strangle him, except then I’d have to find a new roommate.
“Yeah,” I supply. Feeling suddenly squeamish about staring into my boss’s glittering and not-at-all-friendly eyes, I drop my attention to her clavicle. Way to show your belly, Cat.
“How?” Lou chirps.
My mouth goes dry. Dropping my gaze was a mistake. Andi’s wearing a deep-V-neck T-shirt, which means I can see without impediment the jut of her collarbones, the shadows they throw, and the hollow at the base of her throat. “They’re my boss,” I add, as if reminding myself of this important fact.
“Ooh,” Lou says, understanding lighting up his tone. He sticks out a hand, which I’m surprised to see Andi take. “So you’re the fabled boss. I’m Lou, Cat’s roommate. Is the game you two are writing together anything like ōkami ?”
I laugh, jolted out of my trance. “I write for her, not with her.” This earns me a deep wince from Andi, which I’m immediately proud of. Take that, you gorgon.
“R-right,” Andi says, before angling her body toward Lou. “No. Hollow ’s nothing like ōkami .”
“You here by yourself?” Lou asks, grinning. My stomach backflips. “If so, you should feel free to join our table. Well, once we actually get one.”
Inwardly, I throw my hands up in despair. While Lou is being a total idiot, Andi is also being particularly broody with her tetchy responses and etched-on scowl. So what if the last time we talked we were at each other’s throats? That’s as much her fault as it is mine. Thinking about the way she dismissed Charon’s Scythe then told me I was wrong for asking for more responsibility fills me with rage, and I seethe up at Andi with renewed heat in my eyes.
“I’m good,” Andi says, backing up a step.
Deeper inside the restaurant, an Asian lady squawks out a number of names. At “Zhang An Di,” Andi turns and grabs a brown bag off the counter. Then, before either Lou or I can react, she’s gone.
“So that’s Andi, huh?” Lou leers at me.
Ignoring him, I stab a turnip cake and leverage it toward my plate. We got seated a few minutes after Andi disappeared. “What kind of heathen gets dim sum takeout?”
“Honestly, they didn’t seem that bad.”
“Half the point is anticipating your favorite cart coming around the bend,” I grumble.
“If anything, I think you might’ve been scarier than them, Pebble.”
I let my chopsticks clatter to the table. I don’t mind Lou’s nickname for me, but to insinuate that I was the chilly one …! “What do you mean?” I demand.
“Well, your face was bright pink the whole time. I couldn’t tell if you wanted to kiss them or set them on fire.”
“Definitely set them on fire,” I growl. While I could imagine someone wanting to kiss Andi—her bone structure is exceedingly symmetrical—that’s not something I’m currently or ever will be interested in. Pressing a wrist to my cheeks, I will them to cool down. “You didn’t see Andi on Thursday, Lou. She basically threatened to fire me unless I get in line under her.”
“Under her, eh?” Lou says, doing a wavelike thing with his eyebrows.
“Shut up.” I cast around for a napkin or stray chopstick wrapper to chuck at him.
“Hey, I’m on team Cat here,” Lou laughs with a shrug. Flagging down a plate of mini pineapple buns, he sails one onto my plate like it’s a peace offering. “All I’m saying is maybe you two have more in common than you think. I mean, you both like ōkami . Maybe you could be friends.”
“That means nothing,” I retort. “Plenty of people like the same games I do. That doesn’t change the fact that a lot of them are downright detestable. For proof of that, see Reddit.”
Tearing into the bun, I chew with purpose. “There is absolutely no world in which Andi Zhang and I are friends,” I say firmly.