In a monotone voice, I catch her up on the situation.
“Okay. Okay…” Rachel nods a few times. Then moves her hand up to my shoulder and squeezes. “What do you want to do?”
“I… I mean, we… have to go. I’m sorry, Rachel.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine, so long as I’m with you, okay?” She leans her forehead against mine. “We’ll go. We’ll change our flights.”
“I can’t lie to my parents.”
“Okay.”
“But I can’t tell them the truth.”
Rachel hums. “Karan. I’m here. I’m always here. And I’m on your side, always. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I allow myself to take in more of Rachel’s touch, more of her presence, before I dare to stand and make my way downstairs with her. Even as we descend the stairs, I don’t let go of her hand.
Mom, Dad, and Jocelyne are all seated at the table by down, drinking tea and chatting. Good. I won’t have to try to capture their attention. I silently sit at the end of the table; Rachel sits next to me, not letting me go.
Mom is the first to notice my somber expression. “Honey, is everything all right?”
Dad and Jocelyne quiet down and turn their gazes to me. A familiar terror sinks its claws into my back.
That scrutiny is the heaviest of burdens when all I want is to simply be myself.
I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.
“Something came up, and we have to leave tomorrow,” I start.
“Wait, what?” Mom exclaims.
“Leave?” Dad adds.
“Oh, no, is everything okay?” Jocelyne asks.
“Everything’s fine.” I take a final look at Rachel, and the comforting warmth in her eyes will have to be enough. “Earlier this year, I joined a competition with three of my friends from McGill.”
The four of us are hungry for much more than the $8,000 prize for best game prototype or $2,000 prizes for some of the other titles achieved at Ubisoft’s annual Game Lab competition. Every team gets access to a mentor, but, perhaps best of all, creating something great can get the right people from Montréal’s video game industry to notice you.
Last year, over a dozen internships and jobs were handed out, some of them by Ubisoft themselves, so we’ve got our hopes up.
But I can’t tell them any of that.
“A competition?” Dad asks when I’ve been quiet for a moment too long. “That’s my son. You’re planning on winning, I hope?”
“That’s the idea.” I squeeze Rachel’s hand. “But something came up, and we need to get back to Montréal earlier than planned to finish up our… stuff.”
“What are you making? What kind of competition?” Jocelyne asks, stars in her eyes.
She’s not the one I’m terrified of disappointing.
“It’s the Ubisoft competition,” I say, shifting my gaze downward.
“Ubisoft? Who’s that? An important company?” Mom asks.
“Wait a minute…” Dad crosses his arms as he begins to figure it out. “Isn’t Ubisoft that video game company?”
