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BLAKE

“Hey,” Blake said, climbing into the passenger seat. The air outside was cool, and he glanced back at the school. He’d never cut before. Not ever.

“Any excuse to bail on bio,” said Gregg with a slow smile. “And the least I can do after all the times you saved my ass in Red World .”

The interior of the Bronco smelled faintly of weed, and David Bowie was soft on the radio. Gregg rested one hand on the wheel and gunned the Bronco as soon as Blake was strapped in. One last glance back. Would someone come running out after him?

He thought back to middle school, how the teachers brought you to your parent’s car. How you needed a note to go home with someone else. How in the early days after Dad left, he knew the FBI was there watching. Would he come and try to take them? Blake always wished for it. But he didn’t come then. Now, in high school, it was like no one cared. When the final bell rang, kids ran for the bus or drove themselves, walked, or rode off on bikes alone. No one knew how or if you got home.

“Never cut before?” ask Gregg. He had a deep, smoky voice.

“Yeah,” Blake lied. “Lots of times.”

Gregg just smiled, easy. Denim jacket, slouchy, longish sandy hair. He had this aura, both on the game and in real life. Supreme confidence, a kind of toughness under the chill exterior. Blake had seen him behead three players with a single sword strike in Red World .

“Gummy?” Gregg held out a bag with little orange sugar-coated circles clinging together.

“No, thanks.”

He wasn’t going to add getting high to his list of infractions, though he was tempted. And he really wished he was as cool as Gregg, who popped one in his mouth. Should he be doing that while he was driving? Blake stayed quiet. He didn’t want Gregg to think he wasn’t cool.

“It’s the good stuff. I lifted it from my mom’s safe,” said Gregg. “My parents are rocked all the time.”

“Sweet,” said Blake. He’d never even seen his mom have a glass of wine, not since Dad left.

“Where are we headed?” asked Gregg.

Blake glanced at the map on his phone. “Just make a right at the light. I’ll tell you where to go. Not far.”

Gregg offered an easy bob of his head, shifted in his seat, and kept driving.

“Hey,” said Gregg, as he made the turn, “I was going to ask you what you’re going to do about those tools who are always bullying you on the game.”

“I’m handling it.”

He thought of Marco cowering on the floor of the bathroom, bleeding. He didn’t want that. He’d avoided conflict as much as possible. But he wasn’t sorry. Not even a little.

Gregg rubbed at his very faint blond goatee. “Sometimes you gotta bust some heads, you know?”

“I’m not much of a fighter,” he said. But maybe that wasn’t true.

Gregg shot him a skeptical squint. “I’ve seen you slay.”

“ Red World is not the real world,” said Blake. He wished it was. He wished the gaming world was real and this one was the simulation. It was so much easier to navigate, so much easier to understand people and their motives, to defend yourself. The goals were clear. Punishments were harsh but temporary.

“Yeah, but the same rules apply,” said Gregg with a laugh. “Don’t let anyone push you around. Usually, you only have to do some damage once and they leave you alone after that.”

Blake hoped that was true.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” Anyone else , he thought, hiding his sore knuckles. In Red World , no one got hurt, not really. No one died. If they disappeared, they came back the next round. In the real world, when you hurt someone, you couldn’t help but hurt yourself, too.

“Even if they hurt you ?”

Blake didn’t know what to say. But he thought no, not even then.

“Cool, cool,” said Gregg when he didn’t answer. “A pacifist.”

A wimp , a doormat , that’s what Violet would say. What she did say. What was the difference? he wondered. He couldn’t wait to tell Violet about Marco. He was probably going to get suspended. Fighting in the bathroom, then cutting. It was a lot.

They pulled past the supermarket, the big mall with the Target and the gym. The daylight looked funny, like on a sick day because that’s the only time he was out of school during the week. Then they were on the wooded road that led out of town. They drove awhile, and Blake kept his eyes on the road behind in the side-view mirror. There were no other cars, hadn’t been even once since they left town. That was good.

“So what kind of errand is this?” asked Gregg. On the radio Mick Jagger was unsatisfied. “You’re not in any trouble, are you?”

“Up here on the right,” said Blake.

Gregg shot him a quick glance. “There’s nothing out here.”

It was true. His destination was still a solid mile away. But he couldn’t have Gregg or anyone driving him all the way. That’s why he hadn’t called an Uber. The rules were clear, no one could know where he was or what he was doing.

“I’m good,” he said. “Really.”

Gregg gave him a concerned frown but pulled over. Blake opened the door and lugged his big pack out. The leaves around them were turning yellow, red, brown, falling, the air crisp, smelling of wet grass.

“Brah, I don’t love leaving you here. Sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good,” said Blake with a nod. “And—just—bro code, right? No one ever needs to know you dropped me here.”

Gregg’s hazel eyes were serious, if a little glassy. “Bro code.”

“Thanks for this. I owe you.” Blake shut the door, and the sound of it echoed in the quiet.

Gregg looked at him long through the window, then gave a quick nod. Blake waited until he was out of sight before shouldering the heavy pack and heading down the road.

After a while he dipped into the trees. He knew his way, and it was better to stay out of sight.