Glitch (Next Level #1)(4)

“Beetle!” I hear my sister Erin yell in the background. She must have thought he was hurt the way she panicked. I don’t blame her. He’s spitting mad and acting out, which is something they’re working on. “What’s wrong?”

“They stole everything from my fucking world!” he screams at her.

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

My sister grabs the cell from him, and I cringe when she says, “Glitch, you better not be the one to have taught him that word.”

I’m not. But my sister will never admit she has a foul mouth and no filter. Beetle didn’t get the f-bomb from me, that’s a promise, but he might have picked it up at home, or at school. “Wasn’t me.”

Beetle yells angrily in the background.

“Damnit,” Erin sighs. “I’ll call you back.”

“Hey, don’t yell at him, okay? He’s been riding the struggle bus a lot lately.” Worst. Thing. I. Could. Have. Said.

Erin goes dead quiet.

“Shit, Erin. I’m sorry I—”

“Don’t talk to me like you know my son better than me, Glitch.” She hangs up on me and I stare at the TV screen. The pixelated image that once was a sprawling, exciting world my nephew created out of brilliance and patience was destroyed.

Kids are assholes. And now my sister thinks I’m an asshole too. Damnit.

My cell dings. Bracing for a nasty text from Erin, I swallow the lump in my throat and look down.

Trey: Sorry man. It had to be done.

What the—

Another text comes through just as I’m typing a response back. It’s from an unknown number and when I click on it, my heart stops.

Unknown: Hey Glitch, it’s Ara. Trey gave me your number and said you agreed to look at my computer. Thanks so much for this. I’ll do anything to get this baby up and running again. When and where can we meet?

I read it three times.

I can’t breathe.

Of course, I’ll look at her computer. I was going to offer on our Discord channel privately—because I hate when other people get all in my business—and she’s not paying me a dime for anything I do for her.

Still, I’m pissed at Trey. He’s trying to shove us together when I’d rather do this my own way.

Trey: You can thank me later.

He thinks he’s done me a favor. He has no idea Ara and I chat privately on Discord sometimes, but really, what has that gotten us? Nowhere in months. We’re too cautious, too generic, and safe. Too filtered and buffered. And she’s been too taken by someone else.

Until now.

I keep opening her text to send an answer and closing it before I do.

Open. Close. Open. Close.

This is why my sister started calling me Glitch when I was a kid. If I’m not in control, my wires cross and brain fritzes. I lose all chill. Get stupid really fucking fast. Damn Trey for this.

Popping open the text again, I’m so mad my thumbs fly across the screen.

Glitch: I’m going to wrap my hands around your throat and squeeze until you see God.

I smash the send button, realizing my mistake too late. FUCK!

I sent the message to Ara, not Trey.





Chapter 2


Ara



I was nervous about texting Glitch. Stupid, right? We chat on Discord sometimes, but I don’t know. Having his cell feels… different. More intimate? I don’t know why it feels that way.

Okay. Yes, I do. But I’m not about to admit that I’ve fallen for a guy I barely know, who I’ve never seen, and who has basic conversations with me online. It’s embarrassing. I haven’t said a word about it to Trey, and I sure as shit would never say anything to Carson, but Glitch has been a constant tip-toe area for months.

Coming to him with a broken computer is not how I thought we’d finally meet. I don’t like asking for help. I also don’t like it when things are fucked up. It makes me feel messy and out of control. As an artist, I don’t mind mess on canvas. Hell, I don’t mind chaos on canvas either. But that’s my mental space. My control. I tell the paint where to go. When shit breaks around me and I can’t fix it? That’s next level anxiety.

I stress a lot. When I’m painting, I’m in a calm-zone, but the instant I step back, self-doubt and imposter syndrome creep in. Gaming is my stress reliever. With everything I’ve had going on lately, I’ve barely been online.

And the only other stress reliever I have comes with a rechargeable battery.

I suck at being social. I hate big crowds. I’m an awkward turtle who is obsessed with anime, gaming, and art. God bless Trey for including me on these nights. When he called to say Glitch would work on my computer, relief made me twenty pounds lighter. I’m desperate.

And I’m pissed.

Yes, my computer was kicked. And ever since, it’s gotten worse and worse when I use it.

Walking away from frustration—my broke ass computer—I leave my phone on the kitchen table and head into my bedroom.

While other women my age are clubbing on this fine Friday night, I’m in my bed with noise canceling headphones and a battery boyfriend by my side. Look, I’d love to have a hot guy in here with me, but that requires more effort than I’m willing to give. Dating sites suck, as my last three boyfriends have proven. Bars and clubs are noisy and overpriced and fun for a half a minute. I’m not good at socializing and have no intention of throwing my insecure ass out there to get rejected again.