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That’s a lie. According to these statuses, I gave all the fucks there were to give.

A few minutes sneak on by and Rennix asks how it’s going.

Tragic, that’s how. “Good, I guess. But I don’t really know what the point of this is.”

“Maybe we’re supposed to read them together?”

Over my dead body. “I doubt it. It’s in my room after all.”

Rennix doesn’t sound convinced. “I don’t know.” He starts turning around and in a desperate attempt to stop him, I lose my sense for a beat and before I know it, I’m slamming my fist down on the desk, startling us both.

“Please, for the love of whatever tormentor is, well, tormenting us from above, do not turn around. I’ll figure it out.”

I continue reading, but that’s doing nothing. In a desperate attempt for at least a clue, I scroll down to the bottom of the page. A gray box appears that reads, Start. Obviously, I click on it. And wouldn’t you know, another action I immediately regret.

While my MySpace profile is still on the screen, it’s not static…it’s interactive.

I begin to read the instructions out loud.

“Hey, digital wonders, Memoria here…” I stop reading to look at Rennix.

“You can turn around now. Looks like Gossip Girl over here wants us to play a game.”

“Who?”

I stop to prepare myself for my best Gossip Girl voice. “You know you love me, XOXO, Gossip Girl.”

Rennix looks at me like I have ten heads.

It’s then I do a little mental math—which proves to be as strenuous as all math endeavors have always been for me—and realize he has no idea what I’m talking about. Gossip Girl aired the fall of our junior year and he was here. You’d think whatever made him pledge to stay here would’ve at least provided him with a TV considering how digitally inclined it is here, but apparently not.

“Not important, forget it.” I continue reading out loud. “It looks like someone has made a habit of suppressing their feelings. According to our calculations, that’s all someone knows how to do.”

“This fucking douchelord!”

“What?” Rennix asks a bit too nonchalantly for my liking.

“Are you not listening to this bullshit? This screen warrior is insulting me.”

By telling the truth. But that’s neither here nor there. “That’s enough.” I press the power button below the screen near the headphone jack. Not sure why I thought that would work considering the computer is still powered up despite being unplugged.

I’m stubborn. Sue me.

As one would expect when dealing with breaking the millennial matrix, that…didn’t work. I’ll tell you what it did do, though. It made this Gossip Girl wannabe angry. So angry that I lost my role as narrator and now our ears are being cursed with the most ear-piercing, loud, robotic voice I hope to never bear witness to hearing again.

“In order to be granted access to the next level. You must answer the following prompts regarding the statuses appearing on your screen. Answer honestly and you move on. If not, another status will be added, and Lamb Chop will force you out.”

“The sock puppet?”

“No, you buffoon. Good luck.”

“What a peach,” I murmur.

“Do you need my help?” Rennix asks, hovering over me from behind where I sit.

“Nope, I think you’ve done enough.”

Too late. He’s reading the prompt.