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wearing anything less.
    “Hi,” the girl said, “I’m Leya .”
    “Bruce,” said the boy.
    “Hi. I’m Jinx,” I said, and bumped elbows with each of them in
greeting.
    “Welcome on board, Jinx,” said the driver, who was also wearing
an E97. “You excited?”
    “Crazy excited!” I said. Then I felt a blush rising — maybe it
wasn’t cool to be so enthusiastic. “Are we going to be playing together?” I
asked, waving a finger between the three of us in the back.
    “That’s right, today is just for snipers,” the driver said, as he
backed down our driveway.
    There were different roles you could play in The Game. Most kids
played as soldiers in the war against the Alien Axis Army. I’d only ever been
interested in playing as a specialist soldier, a sniper, but you could also
play as a spy — intercepting the calls, texts and mails of Jakhil’s invaders; as a code-breaker; or as an intel agent — analyzing the data at a
high level, looking for patterns and predicting skirmishes, attacks and the
enemy’s next move. You could even play Ops Management — planning and
distributing troops, equipment, and food; building army bases; and overseeing
all the operations that kept the war game going. It was rumored that if you
were good at code-breaking or programming, you could apply for training at The
Advanced Specialized Training Academy, and get a great job working for the
government afterwards. We snipers just played for fun though. And bragging
rights.
    The Game had existed before the plague began, in a really simple
version. But after kids stopped going out to clubs and movies and malls, home
entertainment took off in a big way. Soon, an updated virtual reality version
of The Game was released with awesome graphics, multiple roles to play and a
new Big Bad — Jakhil and his invading Alien Axis
Army. And within a year of the plague breaking out, it seemed like every kid in
the US was playing.
    It was a fantastic game — all the parts and roles intersected
with each other and you could track how the overall war was going, and there
was something for everyone. Recently, they had even brought out fun cartoon
versions for really young players.
    Robin had tried sniping and code-breaking before he’d settled
into playing as a programmer, though I reckon he would have played as a poet if
that was possible. He was excellent at writing code, but not as obsessed with
playing as most kids were. I was pretty much addicted to The Game — I played it
every spare moment I had, especially since Dad died. When I played, I didn’t
have to remember, or think, or even feel very much. Not about losing Dad, or
worrying about Mom, or wondering whether I’d be stuck at home for the rest of
my life.
    “We’ve got one more stop to make across town,” the driver said,
“and then we’ll head back to headquarters and it’ll be game-time for all four
of you. Strap yourself in.”
    I clicked my seatbelt closed. Not wanting to appear unfriendly by
taking a seat further back, I had taken one of the front seats which faced
backwards, directly opposite Leya and Bruce, but I
regretted it now. Bruce was staring at me intently, scrutinizing the
cobalt-blue streaks which striped my long blond hair, looking into my eyes, and
assessing my height —about three inches shorter than his own — as if trying to
place me.
    “I’ve never met you,” he said.
    I shrugged. That didn’t surprise me, I didn’t meet many people.
    “It’s funny,” he said. “I live only a few blocks away from you,
but I’ve never met you at one of the socials.”
    “Yeah, well, my mom’s not too keen on us leaving the house unless
we absolutely have to.”
    We were obliged by Health and Wellbeing Regulation 223 to attend
a mandated minimum number of socials — six per year — but Mom made sure that we
didn’t go to a dance or a game more. She was convinced that Robin and I would
contract rat fever if we were out of her sight for more than a few minutes