The Leveller - Julia Durango Page 0,2

but they do get full access to the MEEP codes and cheats, which are key to levelling. In fact, my mom even writes a lot of the cheats, the little bits of dialogue that cue certain responses. Like “I want to see the real you,” the one I’d just used on Coop; spoken clearly, those words will immediately turn off primary avatar enhancements. Usually that’s all I need to say to ruin a game for someone and force him back home.

Of course, MeaParadisus offers a premium security package, which guarantees twenty-four–hour “Safe Return” by licensed officials, or MEEP-O Men, as we gamers call them. The problem is, by the time you pay for the pricey MEEP ear piercing and matching frequency device, who’s got an extra grand leftover for the security package? Besides, no one ever thinks they’ll need bailing out, especially teens, and most parents are clueless.

You can’t blame them, though—the parents, I mean. In the past, their kids were at least conscious while playing video games, even if they did seem stoned or zombie-like. An irritated mother, for instance, could always get in your face and initiate “crazy-lady meltdown” mode with rather prompt results. (My own mom could teach a master class in it, she’s so good.) But once a player’s in the MEEP, their body just lies around like a limp rag for up to four hours at a time. You can poke it with a stick and it’s still not going to move.

At that point, if you really need your kid back in the real world, you have one of three choices:

1. Suck it up, buy the security package, and call the MEEP-O Men, who will shut down the game externally.

2. Wait it out until your kid gets bored in the MEEP. (Yeah, good luck with that.) Or,

3. Call me and have your kid home within the hour for an easy hundred bucks.

Most parents call me. Then they take the hundred bucks out of their kid’s allowance or after-school job, so it’s no skin off their nose. Parents love me. The kids? Not so much. Whatever. I’m not in this business to make friends.

I’ve got two pals, Jackson Mooser and Evan Chan-Gonzalez—user names Chocolate Moose and Changatang—who make sure I don’t get messed with at school in exchange for the occasional MEEP cheat. I’ve also promised never to level them, although they don’t use timer hacks very much to begin with. After four hours, the MEEP scripts start to repeat themselves, which gets totally annoying, unless, like Coop, all you want to hear is “Oh, Coop, you’re my hero!” over and over and over again. No thank you.

I also refuse to level adults. Way too creepy. I can handle parents who want their kids back, but marital disputes? No way. Those things get ugly fast. Usually it’s some poor lady with crying kids attached to her legs like barnacles, whose husband is off feeding his ego in a luvme game. Gross. I saw it a couple of times early on, and quickly made a new rule for myself: I only level players ages 13 to 18, and I only work for parents.

Kids under 13 aren’t allowed to play inside the MEEP anyway. They can buy the external package and build their own world if they want, and many do, but for various reasons, including federal regulations in the US, they’re not allowed to have the frequency piercing until their thirteenth birthday. And even then, their parents have to sign a yard-long, small-print waiver that most people never read. Certainly, Mrs. Cuparino didn’t read it or she might have thought twice before letting her son have instant access to his own virtual Pleasure Island.

Coop beats me back to the Landing. By the time I wake up in my collapsible lawn chair (I insist on providing my own napping equipment), his mom is already laying into him. Coop glares at me as I fold up my chair and take the pile of twenties Mrs. Cuparino has left on the dresser for me. Like I said, we’ve been through this before. She knows I’m as good as my word.

I take out my phone and glance at the time. Took me less than fifteen minutes to level Coop this time.

Maybe I should raise my rates.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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I RIDE MY OLD SCHWINN HOME WITH THE FOLD-UP LAWN CHAIR strapped to my back and my hoodie tied tightly under my chin. It’s mid-November and colder than penguin butt here in