Chapter FourWafer Thin

Soph turned sixteen in January, between a paper and an exam. Atom mentioned it from the other side of the room when the clock passed midnight. She kept typing.

"Shall we celebrate?" Atom asked.

"Not tonight. This paper is killing me."

And so the matter had been dropped. Until tonight. They celebrated both her birthday and their first successful assault on the higher educational establishment by going out for sushi, and by ordering far too much of it.

"I'm pretty sure if we eat all this we're going to get mercury poisoning," Soph said.

"I'll take my chances. This was a good call."

Soph had suggested somewhere cheap, but Atom wanted to take her out properly. He had found a place in Mill Valley with a fish tank, and had been enjoying himself ordering things neither of them had tried. She picked a piece off the nearest plate.

"What's this?"

"I don't remember. Just eat it."

"You ordered it."

"There's a lot of stuff. I can't remember all of it. Did you talk to your mom about Stanford?"

They had been taking classes at the community college since they were thirteen. Atom wanted to finish the year there and apply to Stanford with two years of credit. Richard had offered to write a letter, and Atom seemed to think this settled most of it. Soph wanted to go too, although she wished they could make plans without somebody's parent having to do something first.

"She said she'll write one if I want," Soph said.

"Well, do you?"

"I want to get in on my own."

"You will. You've done all the work."

"Then why do I need the letter?"

"Because there are a lot of people applying. It gets them to look at the application. You still have to be good."

"It feels like cheating."

"You think nobody else asks for a letter?"

She knew he was right about that. It still bothered her. Atom ate another piece of fish and asked whether she wanted the rest of the one on her plate. She moved the plate out of his reach.

"You've got a whole one there."

"Yours looks better."

"Do you ever think it's weird that we're doing everything together? Same school, practically the same major. Everybody always thought we would," Soph asked.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?"

"No. I'm just asking."

"I like being with you. If you went somewhere else I'd miss you."

"That's very romantic for you."

"It's your birthday. Eat your fish."

A thousand miles to the north, Rat was navigating a Red Lobster menu, discreetly searching for vegan selections.

"Shrimp lobster combo. Side of clam chowder." Her companion's English was practiced and direct, but with a hint of condescension. Rat had heard it from enough opponents that she was already bracing for an insult.

"Uh, I'll have the green salad with no cheese and balsamic. And a potato, no butter."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like something more? I'm paying."

"No, thanks." Rat wanted to say something, but she decided it was best to hold her tongue. She needed to hear the offer before she picked a fight.

The waiter took their menus. Rat looked into the man's eyes. He was Jeong Yong Kim, former pro gamer, current manager of one of the highest ranked Korean teams. He didn't fly across an ocean to take her on a date.

"So let's cut to the chase, eh?" Rat said.

"And what chase do you think that is?"

"You manage the Estex Dogs, and the spring Proleague qualifier is a month away. If I had to guess, one of your players got poached or you're looking to add a little diversity."

Jeong laughed. "That is a very logical guess, although it is not why we are here. When I ask you about how you make a living harvesting ingredients for enchantments, that seems like small talk to you. It is not to me."

"I'm making thirty or forty bucks a day. I can't imagine how that would be anything but small talk."

"I will explain. You spend two or three hours harvesting, so you must make about ten dollars an hour?"

"Yeah, more or less."

"In Vancouver or Seoul, that would not be very much money. But I have known many people in parts of Korea and China where that would be a lot. Many are already experienced gold farmers."

"So, how does this involve me?"

"We have a farming operation. One hundred players, all equipped with basic gear. They go out in parties of four or five and do what you do by yourself. It is not efficient. It is barely profitable. We want you to train them."

"Why me? Don't you have anyone back in Korea?"

"We have a highly competitive gaming culture. In Seoul we make our living by winning matches and getting sponsorships. Korean players spend their time practicing for competition. Most of them do not even bother questing, they simply buy the items they need. It is very difficult to find people who prefer bread to glory."

"So you don't actually know any good farmers."

"That is basically correct."

The waiter set down their plates. Jeong picked at the lobster while Rat mashed up her potato mercilessly.

"So let's say I go along with this, how would it work? Would I go to Korea, or do you send your guys here?" asked Rat.

"Neither. You would bind to our players in Korea. Three hours a day, five days a week. You teach our team. We can offer ten percent of the operation's profit."

"Hmmmm…" Rat mulled it over in her head as she dressed her salad. "Binding, you mean with a Link? I don't have one."

"I brought one with me."

Rat looked at the bag on the seat beside him. It was a plain black gym bag, and it had come across the Pacific with a piece of hardware in it that had gone out to a few thousand players three weeks earlier, and that she could not have afforded if she sold every vial she'd ever harvested.

"Alright. I still intend to compete this season."

"That is perfectly understandable. We all seek glory."

"How long do I have to think about it?"

"I get on a plane tomorrow. I must know tonight."

Rat poked at her potato. It was pretty dry. She'd gone enough nights without dinner not to be picky.

"Profit after what?"

Jeong put his fork down. "Equipment, rent, wages."

"And your fee. And your flights." She pushed the potato away. "Ten percent of sales. I see the transaction log. Fifteen hours a week is the limit, and I keep competing."

"Ten percent of sales is too much."

"Then you can keep the helmet."

He considered her for long enough that she started to regret saying it.

"Eight," he said. "The log, yes. We review it after a month."

"Put that in writing."

He took out his phone. She waited until the document arrived on hers, read it twice, and signed.

Jeong smiled and raised his water glass. "To bread."

"To bread."

He gave her the bag when they left. It was heavier than she expected. She rode the last bus north with it in her lap and both arms wrapped around it.

"You just had to get the mochi ice cream at the end, didn't you?" Atom grunted as he unbuckled his belt. "I feel like that guy in that one Monty Python movie."

"One wafer thin mint?" Soph had inherited her mother's appreciation for Monty Python and had passed it on to Atom.

"Haha, yeah. That guy."

They sat in the parked car with the windows cracked, waiting to feel less full.

"I can't decide whether I want to make out with you or fall asleep right here," said Atom.

"Wasabi make-outs, yum." Soph licked her lips. "You want to come over for a bit?"

"Yeah, but then I'm going to want to stay over," said Atom.

"I don't think my mom really cares."

"Yeah, I don't think my dad does either."

"Then it's settled."

Atom started the car and shifted into drive. Soph put her hand on his as he gripped the shifter.

At the last light before the turn home, Soph moved his empty drink out of the cup holder and put it between her knees. It still had ice in it. She was trying to get the lid off when Atom braked.

Headlights crossed her window.

The truck struck on his side. The cup burst in her hands.