The Impossible Fortress(76)

“I didn’t think you were coming,” I said.

“My dad wasn’t going to let me,” she said, “but then I threatened to have another baby.”

Alf gaped at her until I explained this was a joke.

Mary introduced her friends to mine, but of course we already knew Lynn Scott from Video City. “It’s been a while,” she said to Clark. “You haven’t rented Kramer vs. Kramer all summer.”

Clark had avoided the store ever since our disastrous invasion of Mount St. Agatha’s, ever since Alf had exposed the Claw to the entire student population.

“I’ve been busy at work,” Clark explained. He was already stuffing the Claw into his pocket, but Lynn saw what he was doing and stopped him.

“Wait, hang on,” she said. “Did you really hurt your hand climbing under the fence?”

Clark laughed, like her question was a joke.

“No, I’m serious,” Lynn said. “What happened?”

He took a moment to scan the room—he might have been searching for escape routes—then reluctantly pulled the Claw from his pocket. “I was born like this,” he admitted. “It’s called syndactyly, and it runs in my family.” He turned the Claw left and right, allowing Lynn to take a closer look. “But trust me, as soon as I turn eighteen, I’m paying a doctor to saw it off.”

Lynn cringed. “What?”

“They’ll slice it clean at the wrist,” Clark explained. “Then they can fit me with a rubber hand that looks totally normal.”

“That seems extreme,” Sharon said.

“No, that’s crazy,” Lynn said. “There’s no reason to be self-conscious. All those times you came to Video City, I never even noticed.”

“Well, I kept it hidden,” Clark admitted.

“But I’d see you other times,” Lynn pointed out. “I’d see you walking around Market Street. Or reading in the library. Hanging around the mall. And all those times, I never noticed. Honest to God.”

I’m not sure what surprised Clark more: the fact that Lynn hadn’t run screaming at the sight of his hand, or the revelation that she’d been noticing him around town, in the library, at the mall. These revelations seemed to trigger an error in his programming; he stood frozen, his circuits freaking out, while Lynn and Sharon waited for him to say something.

“Enough already,” Alf said, pushing past them and bellying up to the Gauntlet machine. “Can I join next game? Because I am really good. You girls will like having Alfred Boyle on your team.”

Lynn took Clark by the hand, encouraging him to come along. “We need a fourth player,” she explained. “Mary wants to take a look around.”

“That’s right,” Mary said. “I do.”

“I’ll come with you,” I told her.

We set off quickly before Zelinsky could make any kind of protest. Mary and I walked past rows of vendors selling computer coaching, computer tutoring, and even something called Junior Achievement Sleepaway Computer Camp—four weeks in luxury cabins equipped with state-of-the-art PCs, all meals included, for $2,500. Mary grabbed a brochure and gave it to me as a joke.

I had a million questions I wanted to ask: Where had she been all summer? What was she doing? Did she ever think about me? Did she ever think about her daughter? I’d spent hours on the assembly line preparing for this moment. But Mary just made small talk, so I followed her lead.

“It’s a bummer about Fletcher,” she said. “I really wanted to meet him.”

“Me too.”

“Nothing against this guy Dr. Brooks, but he told me his first computer ran on punch cards. In the 1950s. I’m not sure he’s actually played a video game.”

“I keep telling myself we’re going to lose,” I said.

“Yeah,” Mary said. “Probably.”

She didn’t sound disappointed. It was obvious she’d already moved on to bigger and better dreams. She was enjoying her new PS/2, hanging out with Lynn and Sharon, buying new clothes and making herself beautiful, while I toiled alone in the cosmetics factory, obsessing over all my past mistakes. Push, twist, push, twist, push, twist.

“Have you seen the competition?” I asked.

Mary pointed to the far side of the gymnasium, to a long table full of monitors, joysticks, and keyboards. “You can play all the finalists over there. They set up computers so people can try them. One of them is a total rip-off of Defender.”

“Is it any good?”

“Yeah, it’s great, if you want to play a slower, lamer version of Defender.”

It was the first time I laughed all summer. I couldn’t believe how easily we fell into the old banter, like the last eight weeks had passed in a heartbeat. I wanted to walk past the finalists and see The Impossible Fortress, but our conversation was going well, and I didn’t want to screw it up. Maybe it was better to leave the past in the past.

“By the way,” Mary asked, “is your mom dating Officer Blaszkiewicz?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that weird?”

“Very,” I said, then thought better of it. “He’s not all bad, though. He’s super nice to my mom. And he’s convinced we’re going to win tonight, which is, you know—”