Project Jones - Birthday Boy

Chapter 3: Infiltration

Though he tried not to pay attention to the time, Robot was aware that he spent a good hour and a half on the bed, doing nothing except dozing off every few minutes. Eventually, cycling his own miserable thoughts became a bore, and he finally pushed himself off of the bed. He sat on the floor and opened up his video game cabinet, popping a cartridge of the shoot-'em-up, Contra, into his NES. This was not a day for the whimsical land of Mario.

He was halfway through the game, at such a point of immersion that he could forget that which made him cry earlier, when a knock on the metal door sent him flailing for the pause button, before a foe took his character's life.

"Robot? It's me, man."

Socks! Robot dropped the controller and hugged his knees close to his chest again.

The concert. . .

"I called you earlier but you didn't pick up--your mom said you had an upgrade or something. . . ? Come on, we gotta pick up Mitch and Cubey so we can get on the road soon."

She told him. Robot thought with a grimace. It would be just like his mother to spill the beans to his friends before he was ready. But if Socks just referred to it as an upgrade. . . maybe he wouldn't think so much about it. Maybe the sight of Robot over six feet tall wouldn't send Socks reeling against the back wall after all.

"Uh," Robot started, testing out his voice--straining it to make it as high pitched as possible. "I'm sorry. Yes, I. . . have just come back from a pretty intense upgrade operation."

"Well, hurry up and get ready, man! We can talk about it in the car--besides, there's something I kinda need to talk to you about--Like, I need your advice.

"My advice?" Robot asked, bewildered. In almost all of their history together, it had never been that Robot thought he could dispense advice to Socks. It had usually been the other way around. "Well, alright. . ."

Drawn by the promise of a close friend's understanding and a fun night, and now the self-assuring idea that he had acquired wisdom, Robot bid a farewell to his game's progress, and leapt from the NES. Like most other teenagers, he'd leave his console running for days, or even weeks, so he could just right-away jump back on whenever he wanted to--whether it overheated or not.

Suddenly remembering his clothing predicament, Robot cursed under his nonexistent breath, flipped on his bedroom light, and ran to his closet, looking for anything baggy enough to fit over him. He knew he owned one pretty oversized and bright tie-dye t-shirt, and while it was going to look ridiculous at a heavy metal show, he'd much rather wear that than one of Darvick's sweaters. He tossed aside tiny shirt after tiny shirt, making a mental note to start a box for charity tomorrow as well. "What's the problem?"

"So, you remember me and Stacey talking in study hall on Friday?"

"Well, yes," Robot said to Socks, loudly enough to be heard on the other side of the door. "But you're always chatting with her."