Chapter 9

chapter nine MISSION OPERATION. CHEER UP, DIRK BEGINS. I'm not sure if yelling it in his ears like that is good for his like mood, "Right, sorry," June says quickly. "I got excited."

Dirk groans and flips over onto his side. "Dudes, I don't need cheering up." "You're sleeping on a trampoline," June says. "You cannot be bummed out on a trampoline," I say. "Physically impossible." June shrugs. "Yet here he is. Bummed out. On a trampoline." "Dudes, be quiet and leave me alone," Dirk grumbles. "I got these big headphones on 'cause I don't want to hear the outside world. Get me?" I nod. "I get you, but TOO BAD, YOU'RE COMING WITH US! June and I planned a whole day of cheering-up activities. You will never know happiness, Dirk, like the happiness you will know THIS DAY! June, what is the first cheer-up activity?" June looks at our list—and frowns. "Have fun on the trampoline." "Oh. Crud. Well... Crud." We're off to a lousy start. And it only gets lousier....

We try everything: bad-movie marathon, chili cook-off, garlic knot juggling, loogiespitting contest, and even a mosh pit dance party. After our nineteenth failed cheer-up-Dirk attempt, June says, "Y'know—maybe it's not cheering up Dirk needs. Maybe he's just gotta, like, relax." "Ooh, like a massage?" I suggest. "That's what people on TV do when they need to relax." So, we drag Dirk to the spa where all the moms and dads used to go before Valentine's Day to get last-minute gift certificates, and, well...

WH WH WH. THIS IS NOT RELAXING. Another failure. A massage meltdown. "June," I say. "If we're gonna do this, we need to go to the place where I do my best thinking!" "Not following you to the toilet," she says. "Not the toilet," I say as I walk toward Big Mama. "I do my best reading on the toilet. But my best thinking requires an entirely different atmosphere...." See, I do my best brain-work when I'm playing video games. I know that just sounds

like an excuse to play video games, but seriously—it's like gaming clears your head enough that you can really think, but you still zone out enough that you don't overthink. And it's even better when it's... FOOTBALL FIELD VIDEO GAMES. Quint had the brilliant idea to hook up our consoles to the jumbo screen at the high school's football stadium.

Right now, June and I are playing NIMBUS: Battle Royale while Dirk snoozes in Big Mama's backseat. The windows rattle from his seismic snoring. I've just finished blasting June with a sniper crossbow when June sets down the controller. "I hope your thinking is working," she says, "'cause we need to do something. Dirk is sadder than—than—" I complete her sentence. "Sadder than endof- the-world online video games." "End-of-the-world online games are monster-truck-sized miserable," June says. "Remember when this game was a super intense, fight-to-the-death battle royale against people from all over the world? Everyone for themselves—last man standing wins?" I nod. "Before the world ended—it was constant online combat!" But now... it's just a digital dust bowl. A wasteland. When June and Quint and I first sat down to play, it felt like the game world had entered apocalypse mode, too....