Drawing Amanda (9 page)

Inky so totally understood. He could feel the regret and the hope. It stirred up feelings inside of him. All the times in grief therapy when they’d gone around in the circle, they were supposed to say how they were feeling. Hawk could always come up with some angry emotion. But into the second year, Inky was still numb. “Tell us what you’re feeling now,” the leader would say, but there were no words, only colors, and they were all muddy, like the mix of colors in the runoff wash on his palette at the end of the day.

Megaland
: And maybe it’ll be your chance too. No more darkness. A bright new path. We’ll make this game rock. Nothing’s better than success. Whatd’ya say? You in?

Inky sucked in his breath. In three words this guy got it. No more darkness.

Was he in? Did the sun rise in the east in a cool mute of color? There was never anything Inky wanted more to be a part of.

Picasso2B:
In all the way. I can draw anything you want.

Megaland
: Thank you, Picasso2B. I think you will be a great asset. You can call me Woody, since we’re working together and all. Hey, do you want to check out the new parts of the game?

Picasso2B:
Save that for the real testers. I feel like drawing now. Good night, Woody.

Megaland:
Good night, Picasso2B.

Inky felt the green of spring buds. He took out his colored pencils and started to sketch.

He recreated the face and body of the girl he’d drawn for Megaland, the girl based on Amanda. He thought of her at the cafeteria table, smiling her shy smile. There was something so natural about her.

Inky swatted a straggle of hair away from his face, scrunched up his eyes and tried to conjure up the exact green of the iceberg lettuce in Amanda’s bowl. He concentrated as if everything depended on it.

He wanted his drawing of her to be perfect, and focusing on the right shade helped. He knew he was rusty. The caricatures for the school newspaper and quick sketches of his friends, that was before. Last year he filled his notebooks with abstracts, a mad rush of color, emotion running like muck. Rivers of his guilt traversing the page in each mad drawing.

He started working on her hair. He sketched a string of leaves flowing down toward her shoulders. Then he tucked a broccoli flower behind her ear.

For her dress he made a gown of lettuce and spinach leaves. He hummed as he shaded them. It was an elegant dress, and his character looked truly lovely.

There were definitely peas in her salad. He remembered how Amanda balanced one on her fork while she laughed (she laughed!) at his story about how he got his nickname. And asparagus? Did she have asparagus? Are there even asparagus in October?

The top of his chest throbbed as if his heart had been pushed up, displaced by grief, his insides swollen from the burden he carried. He bit his lip as he struggled to recall the items on her lunch tray.

Inky gave her some final ornamentation: an asparagus spear twisted around her neck and some delicate pea earrings. None of his pencils were quite the right color for the earrings. He wanted a brighter green. He knew just the color—the ink his father had used.

Inky hesitated. He’d last been in his father’s study to help collect slides for the memorial ceremony his father’s colleagues had put together. When it was done, they’d shut the door and had avoided that side of the apartment ever since.

He wanted to impress the game developer; this was his shot at having his art used. And if this worked, maybe it wouldn’t matter so much that he wasn’t going to art school with his friends. Maybe this was the next step.

He bit his lip and stroked a single line of black ink on the page before him. There were things that actually mattered in the world, Inky knew, and just in case he forgot, his school served up heapings of world tragedy and disasters as part of the curriculum. But at this moment, the world, his world, depended on him drawing Amanda.

Principal Harooni’s voice echoed in his head.
It’s time.
He fixed on the crisp lettuce green. He knew the color he wanted. No other green would do. He took a deep breath.

Inky opened the door to his father’s study. The shades were still drawn. The dust made him sneeze. He lowered his head as he walked to the desk. He didn’t want to look around. He felt cold from the inside out. He squeezed his eyes tight, as if it would chase away the flood of images of his father working at his desk. He shivered from his shoulders all the way down his spine.

He bumped his knee against the wooden desk and felt for the drawer, pulled it open, grabbed the ink and raced out of the room. The sound of the door closing triggered a sea of color, emerald green swirling and turning darker, ever darker, into a menacing inky abyss.

He sat at his own desk for a long time until the shaking stopped. When his hand was steady again, he loaded the emerald green cartridge into his pen. He made a dot by his character’s ear, added some water to dilute the color and then drew a circle, the spiral increasing slightly, over and over again. He repeated the same motion for the other earring.

At the top of the drawing he wrote
The Green Goddess
in letters that looked like a vine.

He scanned his drawing and signed on to the server handling the Megaland drop box. He attached his file with the message:

Picasso2B:
I’m uploading another picture – I’m sure you’ll find good use for it.

Chapter 17

The New, New Girl

W
HEN AMANDA SIGNED ON TO MEGALAND
, she was greeted by a silly animated graphic of wires touching that said “Testing in progress.” She wondered about the other testers. What were they like? Did they live in New York? Would she ever get to meet them?

She opened her homework notebook and recalled some of the things that Hawk had said about their classmates. She wrote about a page and set it aside. The testing icon dissolved on the Megaland screen and the welcome screen came up. The chat box appeared.

Megaland:
Welcome, welcome Justagirl. Sorry if I kept you waiting. I was just finishing up with the artist.

She felt her smile broaden. It was almost as if the website was hers alone. She wondered how long the development stage would be, and hoped it would be a long time.

Justagirl:
Gave me time to do my homework.

Megaland:
That was quick. It must be easy for you.

Justagirl:
Not really. The teacher is making me write about the school and I don’t really know anyone so it’s hard. And this time it matters, ’cause we’re probably not moving again.

Megaland:
I can see why you’re worried. You want to make a good impression at your new school, but it must be hard to figure out how

Justagirl:
Exactly.

Megaland:
Used to be that if you were smart and pretty it all worked out. I know you’re smart.

Justagirl:
IDK.

Megaland:
Well your work here has been fast and smart. Bet you’re pretty, too.

Justagirl:
Not really.

Megaland:
Girls don’t always realize how pretty they are to others. But never mind that. Why don’t you take your mind off school and play a game? I have a new one. You inspired me. I’d really like to know what you think.

Justagirl:
K.

A screen came up with instructions for a game based on visual puns. Amanda started reading.

“Some words are not what they seem – a traffic jam has nothing to do with fruit spread, and Dr. Pepper is not a chili with a medical degree. But what if you could take these words and illustrate them?”

When she reached the end of the screen, she clapped her hands in delight. This was just like what tripped her up in English. How thoughtful to create a game for her.

“Try this. Pick a word from the list. Then look at the graphics to find the pictures that match. With the edit tool you can resize the elements and add backgrounds and colors.”

Amanda looked over the list: traffic jam, chick-in-soup, Dr. Pepper, brain wash, crow bar, grandfather clock.

She picked “brain wash.” There were more images of brains to choose from than she expected. Not just gray science-y illustrations, but also cartoons, drawings and the one picture she chose—a jello mold in the shape of a brain. For “wash” she picked a brightly colored box of detergent. She played with the editing tool a bit to get the brain the right size to fit in the box. Her creation filled the screen.

Then a burst appeared saying, “You’ve earned points.” The text box reappeared at the bottom of her screen.

Justagirl:
That was fun. Silly. But fun.

Megaland:
I need to think of more puns. Perhaps you can help me with that. Every time you hear a figure of speech, make a note of it and tell me.

Justagirl:
K. now when girls at school say things like that, my confusion will be useful.

Megaland:
You didn’t click on the burst. Don’t you want to see what’s next?

Justagirl:
Didn’t know that was something to click on.

Megaland:
Perfect. That’s just the kind of feedback I need. Why don’t you click on it now to see?

When Amanda clicked on the burst, the screen read: “You’re one step closer to your dream date. Who will it be?”

Thumbnail images came up on the screen. They were pictures of guys, with the instruction “Click to enlarge.”

She clicked on each one. There was a basketball player, a rocker, a slender guy with glasses and a briefcase and a big smile, and a guy in a suit with a confident smile and eyes that reminded her of her brother. She clicked on him.

A new screen came up. “Coming soon. Mix and Match, where you select the right shoes for your date outfit.”

Then another screen came up. It was a picture of a stylish girl, sophisticated like a model, dressed in a purple jacket and gray pants. Her legs seemed to go on forever. The face looked familiar, though she couldn’t place why. But it was the cool haircut that she kept looking at. It was asymmetrical and unlike anything Amanda had ever seen. She particularly liked how the part in the hair looked like a lightning bolt. How she would love to look like that.

Amanda was so absorbed in the image on the screen that she didn’t hear her mother come in. From behind her, her mother gasped. Amanda was startled and screamed.

“Manda, what are you looking at? That’s so you! Are you trying one of those makeover programs?”

“Mama, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Oh,
mija
, I didn’t mean to startle you. I love what you’re looking at,” her mother said. “Such a clever girl, you are. It’s perfect, perfect.”

Amanda looked at the cursor blinking in the chat box. She hit the keyboard.

Justagirl:
GTG. POS.

As she typed “POS,” she thought to herself that she’d never had any reason to type that before. So rarely was a parent over her shoulder, and rarer still that she had anything of her own, or had anything to hide.

“I was just playing around.” Amanda didn’t know why exactly, but she was relieved that her mother didn’t ask any more about the game.

“You could look like that. I think you’re right. Do you want a new look?”