Slacker: Chapters 25–33

And anyway, thanks to Rule the World, Cam had turned into such a tyrant that video games were no fun at all.

"And if you had to hang me out to dry, well, that’s just— that’s just—"
"Collateral damage?"

For guys like us, no disagreement was ever so big that it couldn’t be resolved with alien warriors at high noon (which technically happened twice a day, since their home planet had a binary sun).

Coach and Mr. Fanshaw had been as good as their word, getting me reinstated to the Seahawks in time for the postseason.

This may have been a crummy, disappointing, mediocre season with The String on academic probation, but now we were back, and play-off bound.

We didn’t save them from a burning building, or protect them from a pack of attacking yetis. But those kids’ lives were a little better because of us.

All that remained was to capture the insectoid president and remove his scepter of office, which was surgically implanted in his thorax.

All that remained was to capture the insectoid president and remove his scepter of office, which was surgically implanted in his thorax.

All that remained was to capture the insectoid president and remove his scepter of office, which was surgically implanted in his thorax.

When I came clean to Mom and Dad, I had to figure they’d nix my sweet setup in the basement, and that might be just for starters.

The mystery hacker who’d called all those extra meetings—who’d created Pajama Day and Crazy Hat Day, and had everybody raising money selling Pagger Pizza. Who had rebuilt the P.A.G. page and was filling it with rebellious messages even after the school had taken it down. That shadowy computer jock had never been Pavel.

But she wasn’t going to get away with it. I used our new front door for the first time then, barreling out into a clammy drizzle. I barely noticed the weather.

Teachers hassled me less over long bathroom breaks, and Mrs. Backward gave me free candy at Sweetness and Light.

Not only was Melody the hacker who was ruining my life on the P.A.G. web page; she was also the rogue gamer who’d been hounding me for months on the network—following me, challenging me, owning me.

Why, at its peak, you could have snapped your fingers and mobilized an army hundreds strong, ready to do anything you wanted them to.

Okay, the P.A.G. was over. But I thought of all those kids who’d come up to me to say how sorry they were, and how angry they were that we’d been blamed for something we didn’t do. The phone calls and text messages; the notes jammed in my locker. The defiant comments that appeared on the illegal web page faster than the school could take them down.

Even Mrs. Backward could tell that something was wrong. “Melancholy, you boys are. Your friend is where?”

Rumors started flying. It would be the gym, where all our meetings took place. The guidance department, since Mr. Fanshaw was our faculty adviser. The hallway outside Dr. LaPierre’s office, just to show him who was boss. The football stadium—close to school, but away from the teachers’ prying eyes.

When everybody recognized the P.A.G.’s founder, the senior citizens’ garden project went berserk for five full minutes.

Pavel was pink with exhilaration. “Cam was awesome! And not a word about aliens or his clan or Rule the World!”

As we moved along, the steadily growing stream of paggers began to converge on the main roads heading into downtown.

There were waves and subdued greetings, but no one wanted to attract attention and give away our plans.

Melody’s brow furrowed. “You don’t think a bunch of paggers got lazy and asked their parents for a lift?”

He slapped my hand away with his tail, scuttled across the sidewalk, and disappeared through the tall grass into the woods.

Tony sounded rueful. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. What if he’s really hurt?”

Our quarry scrambled through some tall grass and took cover among the thick leaves of a fallen tree limb.

“I dressed for a freeway ramp, not a forest,” Sarah complained, zipping her cashmere hoodie up to her neck.

Yeah, the woods teemed with kids searching for the beaver.

I took a tentative step in the direction of the noise, and there he was, huddled in a thicket of juniper.

I took a tentative step in the direction of the noise, and there he was, huddled in a thicket of juniper.

Just as my hands closed on the furry hind legs, the nut job came careening into the thicket, grabbing the beaver from the front.

Then the two of us hauled him clear of the bushes and stood toe-to-toe, staring belligerently at each other.

“You can have him,” she quavered. “Just don’t pull him anymore. You’re hurting him, and he’s scared. And you have to promise to take him to a vet. I’ll let go when you do that.”

You shouldn't be blundering through woods, dodging trees and hurdling bushes.

It was a little humbling to admit, but we were in the big leagues here, and the stakes had never been so high.