Half an instant later, Peter’s phone buzzed.
They both glanced at their screens, then immediately met eyes and grinned.
On their phones, from the same anonymous number that had sent them a task from “God,” was a new message.
This one did not involve go fucking themselves.
It was the opposite:
You have an invitation.
The word invitation was hyperlinked.
“Oh, go on.” Peter grinned, his eyes twinkling, that icy blue.
Charlie sighed. “Fuck.”
“This is what we wanted.”
Charlie shrugged. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
He was about to click the word invitation, but Peter stopped him. “Forward the link to your laptop. I’m sick of this small-screen business. Let’s immerse.”
“Okay.” Charlie copied the link and sent it to his email. He got on his computer and hovered over the link on the larger screen. “Satisfied? Acoustics okay? Need some popcorn?”
“Quit dragging it out, man!”
“But you’re the one—”
Peter reached over and hit Enter.
The word invitation pulsed, the hyperlink activated.
And then …
For a moment, the screen went black.
Then the music started playing, a little MIDI version of the carnival song that always played outside the main tent while the barker drew you in: Step right up, folks. Right this way!
It came through Charlie’s gaming speakers, wireless on either side of the laptop, filling the room.
On the screen, red curtains drew apart, and a bobbleheaded cartoonish man was there: Donald Trump in an Uncle Sam suit and top hat. He waved, his mouth moving up and down, the jaw jerking open and shut. No sound came from his mouth, but white text appeared against the black background below him, one letter tapped out at a time with a little typewriter click and ding.
You are invited!
Ding! The mouth moved up and down, like a ventriloquist’s dummy’s.
COme inside and play with G.O.D.
Ding!
Bring your friends!
It’s fun!
But remember the rules. Win and ALL YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE.TM Lose, you die!
:)
It’s ur choice. Free will!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Trump was wearing red, white, and, blue pants with suspenders. Now his cartoon arm jerked forward, pointing at them.
We Want You!
Trump changed—his face morphed into a lizard, still wearing his Uncle Sam hat. The big-top tent flashing behind it, the lizard said:
Click here!
You have 2 say yesss.
Charlie and Peter looked at each other.
“What the hell is that?”
“I have no idea,” Peter said. “But I want to go inside!”
“Um, ‘Win and your dreams come true. Lose, you die?’ No thanks.”
“Aw, come on. You’re willing to give Mary a ride to the Grove and risk getting your ass kicked by fourteen actual, real-life ’roid cases, but you won’t play a computer game?”
“A computer game on a messed-up site that’s joking about killing us?”
“Who said anything about killing? They just said you die.”
“Play your own stupid game.”
“It’s just a joke,” Peter said. “They’re messing around.”
“Who is they anyway? Who made this thing?”
“I told you, I have no idea. People just talk about it a lot online.”
“So … North Koreans?”
“Ha, ha. You should click yes!”
“You click yes.”
“You just want to live long enough to get to third base with Mary.”
“Screw you.”
“I don’t think you’ll live that long even if you don’t play!”
“Fuck off!” Charlie studied the animation. “Doesn’t it bother you at all that they know what we did?”
“What do you mean?”
“A Trump cartoon. A shape-shifting lizard. We hacked that sign, like, an hour ago. They only told us to hack it, not what to say. How did they know so quickly? And turn it into an animation?”
“It’s a pretty shitty animation. How long would it take you?”
“That’s not my point. There’s not even a news story yet. Are they watching us?”
“What can I say, they like our style. So, cool. It’s a hat tip. Vindicators rock.”
Then it dawned on Charlie. The Vindicators had done this together. “Do you think the whole group got the invitation?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. We were all there.”
Charlie group-texted them.
“What are you doing?” Peter asked.
“They don’t even know about the website or the God bot or anything. We dragged them into this. We should give them a heads-up and decide on this together. Maybe you can ask your online buddies what the hell the game is, anyway.”
“That’s fair. But what if they take back the invitation because we waited?”
“Then they didn’t want us that badly to start with.”
“Huh. That’s good logic. You have a lot of experience with rejection.”
Charlie punched Peter’s arm—“True”—then sent the text:
Did you get a crazy message with an “invitation”? Don’t click on it yet. Will explain.
Peter added to the string:
Tomorrow—midnight. Tech Lab. Don’t be late!
He added a skull-and-crossbones emoji.
Charlie raised his eyebrow at him.
“Ya gotta have a little style,” Peter said. “To keep the people coming back.”
Charlie saw the time. “I have to go. That means you have to go.”
Peter made a show of going toward the door. “Oh, yeah. Your dad hates me.” He went to the window.
“I’ll go your way. Minimizes questions.”
They crawled out the window. The night was crisp and the air smelled clean and fresh. Fall air. They went down the trellis and landed with a soft thud in the dirt of the garden. They saw Charlie’s dad through the downstairs window, working at the kitchen table, his back to them.
“Oh, crap.” Peter patted his back pocket. “I left my joint upstairs.”
“Get that shit out of my room.”
Peter went back up the trellis and slipped through the window.
Charlie glanced back at his dad. Charlie wondered what was he working on, late at night, by himself at the table? His accounting work—the work he’d always found boring and just a means to an end that all came to nothing anyway when his wife died and his only child went off the deep end? Charlie’s dad’s shoulders slumped in a way that had only started after Charlie’s mom was diagnosed.
Peter came back down and patted his pocket. “Got it.” He got into Charlie’s dad’s car with Charlie.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Going with you to the Grove!”
“Um, I don’t think so. I’m giving Mary a ride.”
“That’s why you need me. So I can bail you out when Tim tries to kick your ass.”
“Out.”
“Fine. Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I won’t.”
Peter hopped out and gave a fake bow. “Then I bid you adieu.”