The Impossible Fortress(30)

Of course they were angry. This version of the story was a lot more believable than Tyler’s horndog fantasy. Mr. Zelinsky had zero patience for shoplifters. Tyler was lucky he hadn’t been arrested.

“I barely know the guy at all,” I told her. “I’m a freshman and he’s a senior.”

“I know,” she said. “I believe you.”

“So we’re okay? Me and you?”

“Yeah, we’re okay.”

I put out my hand and we shook on it. Her fingernails were freshly painted, each with its own tiny sunflower.

“Let’s get back to work,” I said.

She shook her head. “I’m done for the day. I’m going to hang up here for a bit.”

So we stood up there for a long while, watching the sunset and discussing how it was one of those things you could never truly capture in 8-bit, not with the 64’s simplistic definition of violet (CHR$(156)), orange (CHR$(129)), and yellow (CHR$(158)). There were too many other colors, thousands of colors. The hardware could never do justice to it.

That night I went home worried that Mary was still angry, that she was going to abandon The Impossible Fortress and leave me to finish the game on my own. But when I got to school the next morning, there was another floppy disk waiting inside my locker. I brought it to the lone computer in the school library, checked the directory, and saw it contained another mini-game.

You are deep inside The Impossible Fortress, standing at the end of a long, narrow corridor. The stone walls are lined with flickering torches. Blocking the passage to the north is a massive ogre. He is holding a club and staring at you. Saliva drips from his jaws.

>INVENTORY

You are empty-handed.

The ogre takes a step closer. He is three times your size. He looks very, very hungry.

>PUNCH OGRE

Nice try, Will. You hit the ogre with all your might and he barely flinches. Great, now he′s hungry AND annoyed.

>KICK OGRE

Big mistake! Now the ogre is really angry. With a swipe of his fist, you’re knocked to the ground. The ogre raises his club over his head, ready to crush you.

Suddenly a secret panel in the wall slides open! Out charges Mary Zelinsky, broadsword in hand. She slays the ogre and he topples to the floor.

>STAND UP

You stand and Mary sheaths her sword. "I′m sorry I snapped at you yesterday," she says. "I hope I didn′t ruin anything. Will you please accept this dead ogre as my apology?"

>SAY YES

"Thank you, Will!" Mary says. (Your score just went up by 100 points, giving you a rank of Fantabulous.) "I′ll see you after school!"

GAME OVER.

Then the strangest thing happened. Underneath the words GAME OVER, the cursor was still flashing, inviting me to input another command.

>GO NORTH

I just told you, the game is over.

>ENTER SECRET PASSAGE

Sorry, the dead ogre is blocking your way.

>FOLLOW MARY

But Mary is standing right here! She looks quite fetching in her chainmail armor and iron breastplate.

This had to be a test. Mary wouldn’t have programmed all of these responses if she hadn’t intended for me to see them. On a whim I tried something crazy: >KISS MARY

You lean forward, placing your hands on Mary′s waist. She stands on tiptoes and closes her eyes, pressing her lips to yours. Suddenly your vision is obscured by fireworks and shooting stars. Your score increases by 50,000,000 points, giving you the rank of The Coolest Guy I Know.

And then the game finally stopped. A librarian walked past me, and I abruptly powered down the computer before she could read the screen. She gave me a suspicious look—I was blushing from ear to ear—but returned to her desk without comment.

After school I went to Zelinsky’s and found Mary working in the showroom. Her face was close to the monitor; she was absorbed in a problem. I threw down my backpack and fell into my chair. Waiting beside my computer was a bag of pretzels and a cold can of Dr Pepper, straight from the fridge.

“Thank you,” I said. “And thanks for the game. I finished it.” She turned to look at me, searching my face for clues, and I realized my statement was vague. I took a deep breath and said, “I got the fifty million points.”

Mary turned back to the screen. She tapped a line of code with her pencil. “This part right here is causing tons of lag. What if we moved it to the beginning?”

I leaned over her shoulder for a better look, and maybe I leaned a little closer than usual. Close enough to smell her shampoo, or her perfume, or whatever made her smell so good. Our fight was over and we were back to normal. But normal was a little different from that day forward.





1400 REM *** ASSIGN RANKING$ ***

1410 IF SCORE>=8000 THEN RANK$="FANTABULOUS!"

1420 IF SCORE<8000 THEN RANK$="AWESOME!"

1430 IF SCORE<7000 THEN RANK$="GREAT!"

1440 IF SCORE<6000 THEN RANK$="GOOD"

1450 IF SCORE<5000 THEN RANK$="AVERAGE"

1460 IF SCORE<4000 THEN RANK$="NOT BAD"

1470 IF SCORE<3000 THEN RANK$="FAIR"

1480 IF SCORE<2000 THEN RANK$="UGH!"





1490 RETURN




AS THE DAYS PASSED, I saw less and less of Alf and Clark. We still biked to school every morning, but I’d stopped joining them in the cafeteria for lunch; instead I hid in the library and used the extra time to work on The Impossible Fortress. The contest deadline was coming up fast; I couldn’t waste a single minute. I’d even started bringing stacks of printouts with me into the bathroom.