Level 13, p.4
Level 13, page 4
“Of course I’ll be there. I’m the P.A.G….” My face twisted. I didn’t like the word president. It sounded like someone who did things. “… guy.”
He smiled thinly. “I’m glad to hear that you’re still our ‘guy,’ and that I’ll be seeing you Saturday.”
“Saturday?” I was stunned. “This Saturday?”
That upset him for some reason. “Don’t you even know the date of your own fund-raiser?”
Well, of course I did. I knew it was some Saturday. I just wasn’t too clear on which one. I should have figured Xavier wouldn’t have baked those cookies six months in advance.
For the first time all day, I caught a break. The bell rang. I got out of there before he had a chance to say another word.
Saturday! Saturday was my best streaming day. Mom and Dad were at the store from morning till night, so all I had to deal with was Melody. And since she had given up video games, she hardly ever came down to the basement. After seeing Elvis that time, she might never come to the basement again.
But now I would have to waste some of my precious Saturday sitting outside a building you can’t sit inside because the ceiling could come down on your head any minute. And all to keep Mr. Fan-thingamajig off my case.
The time away from streaming was going to hurt. That first day of GameFox229 had really shown me how big this could turn out to be. Oh, sure, it was up and down there for a while, especially with all the interruptions. But when I got going, I had over 200 followers at one point—and that was after losing my entire audience twice. I had so many comments that I couldn’t read them and keep my eyes on the game.
Since then, though, everything had been blah. I usually didn’t have more than a couple dozen followers at any time, and most of their messages weren’t very positive. And even the audience I had seemed impatient, like if something great didn’t happen pretty soon, they were going to bolt and watch some other streamer or maybe even a YouTube video of a cat drinking out of the toilet. It was discouraging. I just couldn’t figure out what had changed.
Pavel shared his opinion. “I’ll tell you what changed. That first day you had Elvis with you. You read the comments. Everybody was talking about him.”
“Everybody was laughing at him,” I amended. “And at me. ‘You should change your name to GameBeaver229.’ Very funny. ‘Stick to gaming, kid. You’re way too dumb to run a zoo.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”
Pavel shrugged. “What do you care why they were watching? All that matters is they were. And they were probably telling their friends—that’s where the bigger numbers came from.”
I made a face. “My lifestyle is gaming, not animals. Just because I streamed with Elvis once doesn’t mean I liked it. He smells funny, his fur keeps itching my cheek through the Zorro mask, and when he poops, it rolls under the couch. Melody had to help me move the whole sofa to clean it up. She had a few things to say about that, let me tell you. I’m going to be loading the dishwasher and taking out the garbage for a long time to keep her from telling my folks.”
Pavel folded his arms in front of him. “You’re the one who said—and I quote—‘I’d do anything to get to fifty thousand subscribers.’ There are a lot of streamers out there, but you’re the only one with a beaver.”
I stared at Pavel. He was a smart guy—a straight-A student; someone you listened to. The Positive Action Group had been my idea, but it never could have happened without Pavel. He had been the one with the brains to hack into the school’s website and plant the phony P.A.G. page in the middle of all the real teams and clubs.
Could he be right about this, too? Fifty thousand subscribers would be nothing less than a guarantee that my lifestyle could go on forever.
“We’ve got to get that beaver back as soon as possible,” I said firmly.
It wasn’t a decision I made easily. It would be a huge hassle taking Elvis back and forth from the habitat. Plus, we’d have to keep it a secret from all those paggers, who couldn’t find out about my streaming—and from Mom and Dad.
The minute we presented the new plan to Chuck, he flipped out.
“Are you nuts?” he gasped. “Bring Elvis to your house on purpose? There’s no way Daphne would ever go for that!”
“Since when does everything have to be approved by Daphne?” Pavel challenged. “Maybe that’s how it works in boyfriend zone, but in the real world, you’d be amazed to find out that Daphne isn’t in charge.”
“Yeah, but it’s, like, animal cruelty,” Chuck protested.
“That’s not what I saw on my computer,” Pavel retorted. “I saw a rodent who was totally enthralled by what was on the screen in front of him. And if that’s true, then the real cruelty would be not letting him watch.”
“I guess so,” Chuck conceded in a small voice. A barrage of Pavel’s logic always made him dizzy.
“You’ve still got the pet carrier, right?” I added.
The trial run took place Thursday afternoon. Mom and Dad ran Boxer’s Furniture Showroom, which was open late, so coast clear, parent-wise. Pavel, Chuck, and I made sure to ride our bikes to school, and Chuck brought the carrier, which we hid in the bushes. Then, at three thirty, we pedaled straight to the woods and hiked in to pick up Elvis.
The beaver was lounging on the banks of his pond, chewing on a twig, chowing down with gusto, the way he had when he’d been trying to eat my house.
“Still skinny,” Chuck observed unhappily.
“You can’t tell by his appetite,” Pavel put in. “Maybe wood isn’t very fattening. Daphne should get him to switch to cheesecake.”
“Not healthy,” Chuck clucked disapprovingly.
None of this was helping my streaming career. “All right, Elvis, saddle up,” I announced.
Chuck placed the kennel on the ground in front of the beaver and opened the door invitingly.
I thought he’d scoot inside. Instead, he backed away.
I blamed Pavel. “You said he likes video games.”
Pavel shook his head in disgust. “How’s he supposed to know we’re taking him to video games?”
Chuck picked up the half-eaten twig and tossed it into the cage. “There you go. There’s your snack. Go get it.”
Zero movement.
“Brilliant,” Pavel said sarcastically. “I suppose you haven’t noticed we’re in a whole forest full of sticks technically just like that one.”
“Have you got a better idea?” Chuck challenged.
I thought about what had gotten Elvis into the cage last time. I sucked in a lungful of air and let loose the loudest, most high-pitched screech I could manage. It wasn’t as good as Melody’s, but it did the trick. Elvis scrambled into the carrier so fast that he almost blasted out the opposite side.
Another step closer to 50,000 subscribers.
I wasn’t afraid to say it: I was a better gamer than my brother.
As my secret online identity—Evil McKillPeople—I stalked him all over the network, beating him at everything from Age of Wonders to Zoo Tycoon.
He knew it, too. And when he needed a partner for Rule the World, the big gaming tournament, he picked me.
I had the edge over Cam in every way except one: He cared a lot more than I did.
That was obvious. Cam cared more about gaming than anybody alive, and probably a lot of dead people, too. If our house got vaporized by an asteroid strike, he wouldn’t even notice so long as the gaming console survived. The whole reason the P.A.G. got started was because Cam cared about video games so much—he needed Mom and Dad to believe he was getting a life, the kind that didn’t operate by joystick.
It was Rule the World that put me over the top. To be trapped inside a convention center for three days with 10,000 clones of my brother—some of them in their forties! Don’t get me wrong—it was fun. But when I got home after that weekend, my gaming interest was gone. I hadn’t touched a controller since.
Good luck explaining that to Cam. To him, giving up gaming was like giving up breathing. My brother and I had never been best buddies. Now he looked at me as if I had just arrived from another planet.
“How could you give up video games?” he challenged. “You’re ill!”
Believe it or not, I was kind of flattered. To Cam, being “ill” was the highest possible praise.
It still didn’t make me want to pick up a joystick. “It’s just not my thing anymore.”
He didn’t get it, and I was sick of trying to explain it. Communication between the two of us had dwindled to nothing—if you didn’t count “Help me clean the beaver poop out from under the couch.”
Sigh.
The thing was, our parents worked long hours, so we were thrown together a lot. Every day after school, we were both home on our own until the furniture store closed at nine. All the not talking was driving me crazy.
It suited Cam just fine, though. Silence helped him concentrate on you-know-what. I’d polish off my homework upstairs while he took over the couch potato spot in the dungeon. Now that he was streaming instead of just gaming, I had to try to tune out his overexcited commentary for his followers. I could only imagine the kind of person who had nothing better to do than to follow my brother. For sure, they had even less of a life than he did.
Cam usually got home before me. At three thirty, Sycamore Middle School’s most dedicated student leader was usually poised like a sprinter by the nearest exit, ready to make a beeline for home and the game console. So on Thursday, I was surprised to let myself into an empty house.
I sat down at the kitchen table and started studying for the next day’s science test. Maybe the Awful Threesome had gone to Sweetness and Light to gorge on gummy worms.
Suddenly, the door was practically kicked open. There was Cam, flanked by his two buddies. That pet cage was in his hand. And inside the cage—
“Oh, no you don’t!” I exclaimed. “That smelly beaver isn’t coming in here again.”
“Come on, Mel,” Cam pleaded. “You’re a pagger, too. Elvis is almost like our mascot.”
I wasn’t buying it. “You can’t snow me like you snow everybody else, Cam Boxer. I know for a fact that the pagger who has the least to do with the P.A.G. is you.”
“I need him,” Cam wheedled. “For my stream.”
“Elvis has his own stream,” I countered, misunderstanding on purpose. “Take him back to the woods so he can swim in it.”
My brother scowled at me. “You know what I mean. My gaming stream. Elvis attracts attention.”
“He attracts attention in the basement, too,” I reminded him. “The attention of anybody with a nose. You wouldn’t be trying this if Mom was here. Maybe we should give her a call …”
Pavel jumped in where he didn’t belong. “We’ll pay you.”
That couldn’t have been part of the plan, because Cam stared at him.
“Using what for money?” I scoffed.
“When Cam’s gaming stream goes big time, he’ll be rolling in cash,” Chuck blustered.
This was getting interesting. “Twenty percent of everything you make on the stream,” I demanded.
“That’s highway robbery!” Pavel protested. “Twenty percent just to hide it from your parents? Cam, don’t give her a penny more than ten.”
“Ten not to tell Mom and Dad,” I explained. “The other ten is to keep me from spreading it around school. I’ve been hearing a lot of rumors lately about how you’re stepping back from the P.A.G. so you can be a serious student. Funny how the kids don’t know anything about GameFox229.”
Cam glared at me with burning eyes. “Fine,” he rasped. “Twenty percent.”
I wasn’t an idiot. I totally understood that twenty percent of nothing was still nothing. There was no way anybody would pay real money to watch my brother play video games. I’d been watching him for free my whole life, and even at that price it wasn’t worth it. A beaver wouldn’t help. Maybe a T. rex.
“It’s a deal,” I told him.
The Awful Threesome Plus Beaver went to the basement and I returned to my science book. Pretty soon, though, it was impossible to concentrate. I was used to the video game noises, but Cam’s overhyped commentary was really distracting:
“Retreat! That guy has a legendary bolt-action sniper! … Somebody drop me some wood! How can I build a fort with only seventy-five total materials! … How does my epic blue-pump shotgun do only eight damage? My electric toothbrush is a better weapon! …”
Even worse was this whack-whack-whack sound like those idiots were beating each other with Ping-Pong paddles.
I couldn’t help myself. I had to go down there and have a look.
It was the strangest thing I’d ever seen. My masked brother was on the couch, controller in hand, gaming and shouting into a headset. Elvis perched on the back of the sofa, his squat body arched over Cam’s shoulder, watching with intense concentration. So help me, he looked like he was really into it. When the gameplay was tense, he froze; when things got exciting, he slapped his tail against the fabric of the couch. That explained the whack-whack-whack.
But those dummies were right. Elvis drew a crowd. The counter showed over 100 followers, and the comment feed was lit up like a Christmas tree. I squinted at the laptop screen. None of it had anything to do with Cam’s gaming or even the Zorro mask. It was all Elvis. Why was he there? What was his name? Was the beaver real, or was he some kind of Muppet? Why wasn’t he a fox? Did he understand what he was watching or was he just faking it? Did Cam have to hire a special handler to teach him to appreciate video games?
Pavel and Chuck were whispering the questions so Cam could answer them as he streamed. It was a freak show. One commenter even wanted to know if Elvis was a trained cat inside a beaver suit.
I went back upstairs, but by then, my concentration was totally shot. Soon I was surfing the Internet, trying to find out if beavers were naturally drawn to TV images. There was nothing on the subject—and why would there be? How many beavers had access to video games? It took my brother and his half-witted friends to do the groundbreaking research.
Sigh.
I kept tiptoeing downstairs to check on them. After an hour, they switched games. Elvis seemed to enjoy extreme wrestling just as much as a battle royale. He even let out a series of squeaks when the wrestlers started beating each other up with steel chairs. By the time GameFox229 signed off, Cam had nearly 400 followers, and the messages were mostly exclamation points.
I caught sight of my reflection in the hall mirror. I couldn’t begin to describe the expression on my face—part amazement, part disgust, and part diabolical grin.
Maybe my 20 percent of nothing wasn’t so nothing after all.
With GameFox229 picking up new followers every time I streamed with Elvis, I was especially excited about Saturday. Weekend audiences were usually a lot bigger, and I was hoping to break my record—maybe even shatter it.
Unfortunately, Saturday was the Saturday—fund-raiser day. Pavel, Chuck, and Melody were all signed up to volunteer at the big event, which meant that I’d be gaming on my own. Worse, I’d promised Mr. Fan-doojig that I’d be there. How annoying was that? The most important day in my short streaming career, and I was going to have to waste precious time at some fund-raiser. It was another example of how the P.A.G. always managed to interfere with my lifestyle.
One bright spot: I’d told the guidance counselor that I’d go, but I never said for how long. Thirty seconds ought to do it—I was going to streak across the library lawn like a shooting star three minutes before the four p.m. closing.
I could still get in a full day of streaming. GameFox229 was priority number one.
Boxer’s Furniture Showroom opened at eleven a.m. on Saturdays. Mom and Dad left for the store at ten thirty. Melody helped me put down the newspapers behind the couch, even though she didn’t have to.
“I know you, Cam Boxer,” she accused. “You’ll forget, and Elvis will stink up the whole basement.”
I would have been more offended, except that she was right. I’d forgotten already. I would have left to pick up Elvis without preparing the basement. And even if I remembered later, for sure I wouldn’t have delayed my streaming for the sake of a little beaver poop. I had a kind of tunnel vision, so non-gaming details never registered with me. Melody considered this a negative, but it gave me the kind of focus I needed to turn GameFox229 into a success.
When I got to the beaver habitat, Elvis was sitting on the grassy bank like he was waiting for a bus. He seemed a little thrown by the fact that it was just me picking him up, but I was prepared for that. I pulled the Zorro mask out of my pocket and tied it over my face. The instant he saw that, he practically broke his neck hustling into the carrier.
I wasn’t a huge fan of biking home with the cage balanced on my handlebars, and I was a little worried about attracting attention. But as it turned out, I didn’t pass a single soul. The P.A.G. had gotten so big that the whole town basically shut down so everybody could go to the library fund-raiser.
I hit a minor snag when I turned onto our street and saw Dad’s car in our driveway. The last thing I needed was to have to explain why I was bringing the beaver home. I barely managed to get out of sight behind our next-door neighbor’s garage. I waited in agony, wondering if my breakout day of streaming was going to fall victim to something like a headache or an upset stomach. Elvis was antsy, too, and kept chewing on the bars of the kennel with those giant front teeth of his.
At last, Dad left with the brown bag lunches that must have been forgotten when my folks left for work this morning. The coast was clear.
By the time GameFox229 went live, there were already 150 people waiting online for me. My heart was pounding like a beat drop. I could feel their support egging me on as I launched into my first game, which was soccer. Elvis seemed to be a soccer fan. Or maybe he just liked it when I stretched “Go-o-o-o-o-o-al!” into a seven-syllable word—which wasn’t easy with a mouth full of gummy worms. At one point, he actually climbed onto my shoulder and began whacking me in the back with his tail. It was amazing how much it hurt. I decided to switch to a street-racing game—at least until I could feel my spine again.
