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When’s an appropriate time to ask what is going on with New York? Later, probably? Probably. But telling my brain that doesn’t stop the creeping panic. How would I explain to Corrine that Holden and I are going to one of my favorite places together? That just seems like rubbing it in her face, because she’s told me she’d go to New York with me if I wanted her to, and I’ve never invited her. I prefer to be alone there. But even though this is for the documentary and the contest, it feels personal, even to me.

“What time is it?” Holden asks.

“I don’t know. After five,” Taj says, putting his bowl in the dishwasher.

Holden groans.

“It’ll still be there when you get to the site.” I film him hammering the keys to the beat of the URL and watch the Vice and Virtual site load. The announcement video for the last challenge fades in from white.

This last challenge, the one that has been shrouded in secrecy, will be wild. It’s the biggest and most physically intensive one yet, kind of likeAmerican Ninja Warrior, designed to be the real-world version ofFantastic Lorenzo’s Planet, which is an old-school-like “run and jump to avoid obstacles, collect coins, beat the clock” kind of game. Less skill, more muscle, and it’s all about speed.

Taj meets my eyes, looks into the camera, and then smiles. “I know just how to help you prepare.”

“Mara is going to be so mad she’s not here right now,” I say, tracking the camera over Holden’s backyard, which Taj transformed into a really shitty and much smaller version of the type of challenge Holden will see in New York.

The floodlights cast the entire yard into light, even the parts that dare creep into shadows with the setting sun, and we’re all bundled in our jackets as we take in the scene.

“We can keep it up for Mar-Mar,” Taj says. “Your parents will be cool, right?”

“I don’t know,” Holden says, stepping forward to closely inspect the makeshift stairs to the trampoline made out ofan overturned wheelbarrow and a deck box. “Maybe if Mara promises to wear a helmet.”

“As she should. Safety first.” Taj opens his arms wide, puffing his chest toward his obstacle course. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

“Maybe I should get a helmet, too.” Holden disappears into the garage.

I set my phone up on the tripod and frame the obstacle course. Then I press record on my rented camera and make Taj stand a few feet in front of it. It’s a shame that my phone takes better-quality video than the camera my mom and grandma bought me, but at least I always have it on my person.

“Tell me your name, age, and if you consent to this interview.”

“Taj Chakrabarti. I’m seventeen years old and I consent to this interview.” He grins. “And you’re watchingRidiculousness.”

He takes a running leap onto his shoddy stairs, nearly slips off the wheelbarrow, and bounces onto the trampoline. When he’s midair he jumps onto the swing, attached to the large faux-wood playset, and crosses it without touching the ground.

“No helmet needed!” he yells over his shoulder as Holden comes out of the garage door, frowning at the black helmet in his hands. It has band stickers all over it and a crack down the side.

“Apparently this is the last helmet I owned.”

“I remember this.” I film the helmet in his hands. “You’re so lucky it was the helmet that cracked and not your skull.”

When we were around Mara’s age, we both begged our parentsfor longboards. We took them to the park every day after school for a week, until the last day, when Holden picked up too much speed, catapulted over the track, and smashed his head against the concrete floor of the pavilion by the slides. I never touched my board again. I didn’t even take it home with me.

I run my finger over the gash in it. “I wouldn’t do anything that required a helmet for a long time after that wipeout.”

“Or ever.” He takes the helmet back, tucking it under his arm. “Taj!”

Taj appears on the other side of the yard, his dark brown hair blowing behind him as he charges toward us. “I won!”

“If you’re the only one playing, by your own admission, you also lost.” I smile at him when his grin drops. “Interview? Holden,” I say, gesturing to the obstacle course. “Give it a whirl, if you dare.”

“Tell my mom I love her,” he says resignedly, taking off for the obstacle course.

“Taj,” I say, getting a close-up, “what do you think of what Holden’s doing?”

He shrugs, brushing back his hair. “I don’t really know. He was just like, ‘I’m gonna do this contest to win VR glasses’ and I was like, ‘Okay, dude.’”

“There wasn’t a deeper conversation?”

“Not really,” he says, adjusting his weight to one foot. “Why would there be?”