Rae Mariz - The Unidentified

We couldnt agree on what to play. Mikey, me, and Ari. As always, the hi-def screens lining the Pit were flashing advertisements for classes, hyping workshops on the different floors, trying to get kids to log on to the sponsors featured activities for the day.

Mikey stared over my head, his attention glued to the nearest screen. They were showing highlights from the Robot Combat Arena up in the DIY Depot on the fourth floor. Cinematic sparks flickered on the screen as scrap-metal robots engineered by kids here in school slammed into one another. Bam bam bam. Each machine trying to flip, stall, or destroy the others.

The tinny sound of gears shrieking and crunching-metal groans escaped from the speakers. The noise mixed with the already impressive decibels of laughter and chatter rumbling in the Pit.

Someone tried to squeeze past my chair and her loaded backpack whacked me in the back of the head.

Hey, watch it, I said, turning to glare at the violator of my personal space.

The tiny girl looked up from her intouch. She mumbled a kind of apology that got lost in the noise, and ran to catch up with someone.

She was obviously one of the newbies just getting started playing Level 1317 in the Game. First off, she wore a backpack. That, like, shouts, Im new and have no clue. Another few months and shell be trading it in for a designer handbag, just to survive.

Oh my god. That was Palmer Phillipss little sister, Ari said, craning to get a look at her. Youd think that since her brothers the spokesman of Generation Triple-A shed have a little moreI dont know, sense? Look at her.

The little sister of the most popular guy in school was wearing a pink hoodie polka-dotted with cartoon ponies and brown pants cut off at the knees. Her hair was pulled back into a classic prepubescent hairstyle, the messy ponytail. Id never have guessed she was related to Palmer, a metrosexual masterpiece, as Ari liked to say. Except maybe the eyes; they had the same almost-amber eyes.

Whats her name? I asked Ari.

Who? she said, clicking through something on her notebook.

Palmer Phillipss little sister.

Oh, Lexie. I think. She glanced back at the girl. Its so weird to think we were ever that clueless.

Yeah, I said, agreeing with Ari, even though I didnt.

I thought it took a lot of guts for her to ignore the Level 1317 catalogue so completely, especially since her brother practically published the thing himself. The online catalogue featured all the latest of the latest trends in the Game; what the top players were wearing, listening to, linking to, watching. What they were doing.

Lexie was talking to a bore-core girl slouched in a chair a few tables away who didnt seem to follow the prevailing fashion advice either.

She was about my ageprobably playing Level 15 and old enough to know better. Her shaved eyebrows were painted like exclamation points above her not-amused eyes. It was definitely a look designed to make you lookaway. I wouldnt say she was fat, but Ari might less-than-tactfully mention that she was on the wrong side of her ideal body weight.

I couldnt imagine what someone like Lexie Phillips had to say to someone like her.

Hey! Look at this! Ari said, turning her notebook so I could read the screen.

My eyes flitted over the text. It was an article on confidence-building makeup tips. The girl in the photo looked like she was going to leap off the screen and eat me. Chomp, chomp. Was that how youre supposed to appear assertive? She just kind of looked hungry to me.

Ari had already spilled the contents of her bag out onto the white tabletop, looking for something, trying to get me interested in a grab new cosmetics brand.

This kohl-colored eyeliner would look amazing with your skin tone, she said, holding up a stubby pencil.

I was doubtful.

Come on, Kid. This will give your face some definition. You know, make you look significant.

She squinted at my face, pushed my hair back, touched my cheek. I tried to enjoy the affectionate gestures and ignore the critical look she was giving me. Her eyes scanned over my forehead and eyebrows, the areas around my eyes, but never looked into them. It made me feel way insecure.

I hoped Mikey would come to my rescue, but he was still watching the screens, staring at the violent machines.

I sighed and gave in to Aris makeover madness. I would do anything for Ari. She dragged the liner across my lower lash line. My eyes started to water.

Ari set the built-in camera of her notebook to the mirror function and turned it toward me when she was finished. A girl I barely recognized blinked back at me from the screen. The eyeliner kind of made it look like I got punched in the face two days ago. If that was supposed to make me feel confident, it, umwasnt working.

Mikey glanced away from the monitor during the commercial break and caught my eye. Not that he couldve missed it. I felt uncomfortably conspicuous.

Nice, Mikey said, and reached over to grab Aris eyeliner. Do me! I want to look like a sad zombie clown too.

No way. Im not wasting any product on you.

Mikey tried different tactical maneuvers to wrestle the pencil out of her hand, but Ari was tenacious like a pit bull puppy. He couldnt break her grip.

I covertly smudged the stuff off my eyes and noticed that the bore-core chick with the eyebrows was sitting alone at her table again, watching the crowd in the Pit with calculated disinterest. Her gaze wandered over Ari and Mikeys wrestling match, stopping for a moment on me before she slumped back in her seat and made a big display of how to develop the yawn into a lifestyle accessory.

Ari finally let Mikey have the pencil and saw me watching the antiscenester girl.

Someone should tell her apathy went out of style with shotgun suicides, Ari said. Then she stood up. You want me to tell her?

I grabbed her arm. No, wait. I glanced at the girl in gray again. Maybe boredom is retro?

Both Ari and Mikey laughed at me.

Listen, Ari said. Jaye told me the whole sulky subculture thing is so over. So over. Its easy to be a mopey loser, but playing to win takes style. Want to see my victory dance?

She made a motion like flicking open a cigarette lighter. Extending first one thumb, then the other, until she was sitting there grinning with a two-thumbs-up gesture. She called this move uncorking the champagne.

I groaned. Dont. Ari, please.

Ari started humming triumphantly out of tune and did a jerky dance in her seat, waving her thumbs around. She did an unconvincing robot dance, then tossed in some weird, wiggly, snake-charmer kind of moves.