She retreats. I get a book to raise my laptop off my legs and return to the game. I still have some time. Raven stands on a sidewalk, shifting her weight from foot to foot, waiting for me to continue the quest I was given. The reward is an upgrade for my weapon. Once I have it, I’ll be able to move on to the next area. I can do dungeons—also called instances—soon, and I’ll be able to get even better gear.
I understand why Alissa loved this game so much that she wrote guides for it. The momentum is addictive, the repetition easy to fall into and so comforting. I do this quest and I get a reward that makes me stronger so I can do the next quest. Everything is expected. I will always get the reward I’m promised, if I try hard enough. I can get good enough to defeat any challengeif I just find the right build, the right strategy, the right friends.
I don’t understand everything about this game yet, but I want to. I want to put all these terms in their spreadsheet, I want to line up all the data points of my stats and my gear and my build, I want to join a powerful clan and beat the toughest raids. I want to be the best.
I start Raven running again. Her steps are like drumbeats.
One two three four five...
Chapter 7
This therapy appointment is a real pain in my ass.
I’m gaining levels in CoH like nobody’s business. As long as I keep this up, I’ll hit the level cap—seventy—before the end of the weekend. Then I’ll finally be able to start doing endgame instances and raids, where I can get the best gear. The only problem is that I kind of need a clan for that. CoH Online has a system where players can find random groups for doing instances and raids, but if you’re in a clan, you have can have structure and schedule. You don’t get good at anything without structure and schedule.
But instead of leveling, or finding a clan, I’m trapped in a car, being ferried back and forth like a prisoner.
“Her credentials are excellent,” Mom says, hands at ten and two on the steering wheel and her eyes diligently focused ahead. “I think you’ll really like her.”
My fingers run over the embossed cover of the second Children of Hypnos book. I need to finish this one soon, because the Dreambreaker expansion that’s coming out next month is supposed to be based on book three. Reading the book could give me some idea of what’s coming in the game, and how to fight it. That’ll be essential if I want to get into and keep up with a high-level raiding clan. I’ve been looking through lists of them online. Specifically, I looked up the one Alissa was in, because of course she was in one. She had to be, to write those guides. She played on a different server than me, so I paid ten dollars out of my summer money to get Raven moved to that server. I just need to find someone who’s already in Alissa’s clan to invite me.
The clan is called Ikelos Lair, and they are very exclusive.
“...you listening, Evie?”
I snap back to attention.
“Yeah,” I say. “Sorry, what?”
Mom sighs through her nose. “It’s okay. I was just saying that I saw a colleague of Anna’s for a while after what happened with your dad. She helped me a lot, and she recommended Anna for you.”
“You did? When did you have time?”
“I wasn’t working then,” she says, looking at me with concern.“Don’t you remember? I guess you don’t, I wouldn’t have told you, you were so young. I got fired from that job then.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I couldn’t work,” she says. Her voice gets tight, like it almost always is these days. “Your dad died and I couldn’t do anything. I could barely take care ofyou. Thankfully your dad’s life insurance paid out. I was able to keep the house and go to appointments and get medication until I was back on my feet. My therapist was the reason I was able to do that.”
“Oh. No, I don’t remember.” I remember things from being that age—I remember Dad not talking to me much, running from the room when I came in, and suddenly being gone. I remember playing with Legos in front of the TV. I remember having a lot of playdates and sleepovers at Alissa’s house. That was the first year I went to her house. When we first became best friends. We were seven.
Thinking of Alissa has my hands tightening on my book.
“Did you sign me up for the therapist because that’s whatyoudid?” I ask. It comes out sharper than I wanted, but it’s too late. “Cause I mean, I’m notnotable to do things. I’m not depressed.”
The leather of the steering wheel squeaks under her grip. “Depression isn’t always obvious. I’m not saying you have it, only that you need to be aware of the possibility. And even if you don’t have it, losing your best friend is hard. There’s a lot going on in your head you might not be aware of—”
I turn away from her, not interested in listening anymore. I’ve never liked it when people assume they know what’s going on inside me. Even my mom. My head doesn’t work the same way as theirs. Plenty of people made fun of me for it when I was younger. Sometimes they still do.
I don’t notice when Mom stops talking, but she’s silent as we pull up to the therapy office. It’s the last door on the outside of a long white building. The sign by the parking lot says there’s also a real estate firm, a physical therapist, a gym, a lawyer, and a caterer working out of the other offices in this building.
Mom turns off the car and starts to unbuckle her seat belt.
“Do you care if I go in by myself?” I ask. I can see the front desk through the door; she’ll be able to tell that I’ve checked in, and she’ll know if I come back out.
She hesitates for a second, but finally says, “Okay.”
I take my book and go inside. Six therapists work out of this office, their names printed on the door. Chairs circle a small waiting room decorated in light blue. There are a few magazines, a coffee-table book about pit bulls, and a big picture of a beach on one wall. The only person there is a woman behind the desk, tapping away on a computer. She looks up and smiles when I stop in front of her. She’s maybe thirty.
