The Shipwreck: An Official Minecraft Novel Page 8

  Jake had been so excited, he’d just sat down in his dad’s office next to him, working on the sculpture and perfecting it.

  “Sorry, Johnston, there’s background”—Dad glared at Jake—“Turn that off, will you? Or go play outside.”

  “Sorry,” Jake said sheepishly. He muted the game and waited patiently, adding flowers here and there, and making sure all the doors matched.

  He even started to figure out how to build a working elevator when Dad finally got off the phone.

  “Listen, Jake, you can’t just barge in here when I’m working,” Dad said, shaking his head.

  “I just wanted you to see—”

  “I don’t have time for your silly game right now. I just need to get this project done! Don’t you understand?”

  Shocked, Jake just nodded and took his laptop back to his room. He never bothered Dad with any of his ideas after that.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TANK

  “Hey, Tank, where ya goin’?”

  “Family stuff,” Tank says, staring resolutely at a shrubbery behind Shark’s shoulder. He remembers a documentary about wild animals, how some species see direct eye contact as a sign of aggression, challenge. Shark likes to be in charge, likes to come up with ideas for what to do. Tank’s supposed to be helping Mr. Mishra at the store today, and the idea of Shark there makes him really uncomfortable. The last time they were at Fortress Park, Tank saw him tuck bags of chips and gum into his jacket. AJ and Gus did the same, and they had all been looking at Tank, who didn’t know what to do. They were his friends, and yeah, the place definitely overcharges for chips, but the stick of gum he slipped into his pocket seemed to burn for the rest of the afternoon.

  “Sounds boring. Wanna ditch and race go-karts? I bet the fake ride tickets my brother made will still work.” Shark waggles his eyebrows at him.

  “Can’t,” Tank says. “See you later. Maybe tomorrow?”

  AJ slaps him on the back; Gus jerks his head at him in a slight nod without looking up from his phone. Shark narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything.

  “You know,” Shark says, in a too-casual way that puts Tank immediately on edge, “I think we need to teach that punk in your building a lesson.”

  “Who? The kid in the brand-new tower?” Tank thought he was kind of thick, the way he’d just stared at them with his mouth open before having the good sense to run.

  “Yeah. Saw him talking to you the other day. He give you any trouble?”

  Oh. So Shark saw that.

  Tank had been on his way back from work, about to open the door to trudge up the stairs. It opened unexpectedly, Jake on the other side. They stared at each other for a long moment before Tank narrowed his eyes and hardened his scowl. It was a habit now. Shark always said making sure the other kids knew they were the toughest guys in school was important. Reputation was everything.

  “Oh. Hi. Tank, right?”

  Tank ignored him, pushing past to make his way up the stairs. He was tired and didn’t have time for this, but Jake kept talking. It was bad enough that Tank remembered his name.

  “Thanks. For the other day. You know.” Jake shrugged, and then smiled, like a hapless puppy.

  “Whatever.”

  Tank had forgotten about it immediately, but apparently Shark is now making it a thing.

  It feels like a test.

  Tank doesn’t like it.

  “Nah. He just ran off at the sight of me,” Tank says, flexing his arm.

  Shark laughs, and something sharp and metallic glints in his mouth.

  AJ notices, too. “Whoa, what’s that, boss?”

  Shark almost looks embarrassed, but he glares at them all, as if daring them to say anything. “Braces. My parents—my parents want to fix my crooked tooth. Can you believe?”

  AJ and Gus both hum sympathetically, and Tank hopes his nod conveys solidarity, but he can’t help thinking of the way Ma cried when the dentist told her how much filling Viv’s cavities would cost. They’d made sure to brush carefully from then on. Braces? That was out of the question.

  “Sucks, man,” Tank offers. “I gotta go. See you later.”

  “Hey!” Shark says. “I’ve seen that kid slinking in and out of that abandoned room with all that old stuff. Wouldn’t it be funny if he got stuck in there? What if we jammed a chair under the door?”

  Tank blinks. “Why would that be funny?”

  Shark guffaws. “You’re a riot, Tank. See you later.”

  * * *

  —

  Tank yawns, mentally counting how much money he still needs before he can afford those sneakers. He’d had to pop back up to his apartment before leaving for Mr. Mishra’s and then Ba was attempting to rewire their ancient speaker system and Tank had to talk him out of it, so he’d gotten to work late and missed out on an hour. He’s gonna need to work all summer to be able to afford those shoes, but it’ll be worth it. Especially now that the money he’s given to Ma so far has caught them up on what they need for repairs. He stretches as he gets back to the complex, and he’s about to take his usual shortcut through the side door, but he sees a light on in the front building.

  The key sticks in the lock; Tank hardly ever comes through the main entryway. No one does—who wants to go through two extra sets of doors when you can exit directly to the street faster? Plus there’s a bunch of old furniture and stuff that Mrs. Jenkins keeps saying she’ll get rid of but it just keeps collecting dust. Tank’s got allergies, man. He’s got no time to be sneezing.

  Tank pauses, Shark’s comment floating to the forefront of his mind. He pushes open the heavy glass doors. The creak intensifies in the empty lobby. Yellow streetlight filters through the windows, leaving long streaks across the dusty linoleum. A dissonant white light shines from under the door of the computer lab—which, sure enough, has a chair wedged under the door handle.

  Tank grabs the chair and scoots it aside with little difficulty. He pulls the door open.

  Inside, Jake looks up from the first computer row, his eyes widening. He doesn’t move, like a rabbit freezing right before it’s about to run.

  Tank’s running through his head whether hey or are you all right would be better, when Jake suddenly moves, leaping up from his chair. Tank jumps back on autopilot, the loud clatter from the fallen chair startling him, and before he knows it Jake is running right past him.

  The second set of doors clangs shut, and Tank grimaces, thinking about the fear in the other boy’s eyes. He must think that Tank is the one who locked him in.

  It’s a good thing, he reminds himself. That everyone knows their place. That being big means being tough, and being tough means other kids are going to be scared of him. That’s just the way the world works.

  Tank recognizes the music from the computer Jake left on—Minecraft?

  He steps inside.

  He almost forgot there was a computer lab here. It’s all clutter and junk, at least a decade old. A few computers work, Tank remembers—he used some last summer to browse the Internet when their Wi-Fi was down.

  One lone lit monitor is indeed paused on the loading screen, chimes whirling and rising in the background. Oh. Jake was logged in.

  Tank doesn’t know how many people use this center, but he knows how he would feel if someone snuck into one of his open games and messed with any of his farms or builds. He carefully logs Jake out and turns off the computer, before trudging back out to head home.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EMILY

  “Emily, dinner’s ready!”

  “A minute!” Emily calls, not tearing her eyes away from the screen, clicking furiously. She’s surrounded by skeletons and in the distance she can see a spider ambling toward her as well. She slashes furiously at them, her health dropping as she charges forward.

  Clang.

  Great, th
at’s the third sword she’s gone through today. She quickly grabs another sword from her inventory, making a note to craft some more later, and fights her way out of the mob. Emily barely escapes, hobbling away as she stuffs her mouth with bread. There are still a few scattered skeletons chasing her, and Emily ducks behind a tree to avoid their arrows.

  “Emily Rosario Quesada, don’t you dare make us wait for you!”

  Emily winces at the full name and disconnects. She brushes back her hair, straightens her skirt, and reapplies her lip gloss.

  In the kitchen, the twins are already a mess, faces covered in sauce. Emily pats Ricky and then Minnie on the head affectionately and smooches her abuela on the cheek before sitting down. Her older sister Carmen is scrolling on her phone and unsuccessfully aiming a spoonful of soup toward her mouth, holding it suspended in midair.

  “Mama, can I go to the mall tomorrow with Pattie and Nita?”

  “The mall? You just went yesterday!” Mama frowns, her forehead wrinkling in distaste.

  “I’m not going to buy anything, we’re just going to hang out.”

  Mama clicks her tongue. “You know what I said about wasting money on things you don’t need.”

  “I can’t just wear what I wore in middle school to high school!”

  “Why not? Carmen did.”

  Emily glares at her older sister, who is wearing what she always wears: a black T-shirt with some awful band logo, ripped black jeans that have seen better days, and way too much eyeliner. “We can’t all just roll out of bed looking like we don’t care!”

  “At least I don’t pander to society’s expectations,” Carmen says, rolling her eyes before going back to her phone.

  “You don’t know anything about—”

  “Oye, both of you. We’re not doing this again. You both have your own beautiful style,” she says, pressing a loud and wet kiss to Carmen’s cheek, and then Emily’s.

  “Mama!” Emily scowls, more out of habit than anything, smiling despite her annoyance.

  Mama clucks her tongue. “But you know, when we give you kids money, we expect you to be responsible. You know your father and I work really hard to make sure you all have enough, a roof over your head, enough to eat. That money you should be grateful for.” Mom shakes her head, disappointment creasing her forehead. “You should be more like your sister. She didn’t need to go back-to-school shopping.”

  Carmen gives her a smug look.

  “That’s fine for her!” Emily bites her lip. “Look, I need new clothes, okay?”

  “You need something, you let me know, and I’ll find a good deal for you,” Mama says fondly, patting Emily on the arm.

  “Mama! The stuff you pick out is like, so old-looking!”

  “I don’t understand you. We gave you money for clothes last week. If you just want to spend time with your friends why don’t you invite them to play here?”

  Emily balks at the word play, like they’re babies. “Ma—”

  “There’s a whole game room and stuff downstairs, right? You don’t have to be going out all the time, spending money on pretzels and things. I can make you food, you can save money.”

  Emily can’t even picture Pattie and Nita showing up here. They don’t even know where she lives, for good reason. Emily always has them pick her up in front of that nice apartment complex a few blocks down. Imagine, the two most popular girls in school knowing she lives in this dump? Emily can see it now, Pattie and Nita gingerly stepping over the broken furniture, coughing at the dust, and laughing at the pitiful options in the game room. There would be absolutely nothing to do. The computers in that old lab can barely get Internet.

  Papa enters the room with a grim expression, holding a shopping bag from Lemon Russo, the store Emily was at yesterday with Pattie and Nita. “Emily.”

  Emily’s stomach drops. She knew that big shopping trip last week was probably too much, but there was a summer sale, and buy-one-get-one-fifty-percent-off, and of course she had to get things to match, and Pattie had found that super cute top that went with those jeans, and they did say she could pick out clothes for going back to school.

  Papa hands the receipt to Mama, and Emily freezes. Mama doesn’t say anything, but her face gets tighter and tighter as she gets to the bottom of the receipt.

  “Ba, ba, ba,” Minnie says, reaching for the piece of paper.

  Mama yanks it away, and the silence is deafening as the evidence of Emily’s purchases lies on the table.

  Carmen peers closer and lets out a low whistle.

  Papa shushes her and turns his calculating gaze at Emily. She squirms in her chair, wishing she could disappear. Any argument she would make starts to die in her throat. She knows she shouldn’t have done it, but Pattie had spent twice as much and she didn’t want to look like she couldn’t afford it in front of her friends. But now in the face of the thick tension in the air, she has nothing to say.

  Emily looks down at her plate awkwardly. She had hidden the bags in the recycling bin, and had kept all the tags for the clothes—she was going to return like, half of it, and then they’d never know.

  “I’m very disappointed in you,” Papa says. “We trusted you with the credit card because you said you needed it for school, and you went and took advantage of us.”

  Mama folds her arms as she shakes her head. “I cannot believe this. Look at this. For three shirts and a pair of pants.”

  Emily wishes the floor below her would swallow her up, that she could punch the ground and just keep going and disappear.

  “This is unacceptable,” Papa says. “You’re grounded. You’re going to return all of these things, and Mama will do the rest of your shopping for what you need for school.”

  Emily gasps. “No! That’s not fair! At least let me pick out—”

  “No. You lost the right to pick when you betrayed our trust. And no laptop, no phone, no Internet.”

  “But—but—” That means no Instagram, no Minecraft—

  “That’s final,” Papa says, and his voice is serious.

  Emily leans back in her chair, shocked. Not having to do any social media is actually somewhat of a relief, and it’ll be hard catching up on a week’s worth of posts and gossip, but doable. Nita’s definitely been grounded before and Pattie’s gone on vacation with her parents and didn’t have reception; it’s understandable to be inactive for a while.

  But a week without Minecraft is going to be the worst.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JAKE

  The sound of high-pitched laughter sounds from the living room, and then Dad’s embarrassed snort. Jake pauses in the hallway, listening to see if he can tell who it is. It’s a game he sometimes plays, even if he doesn’t know the names of all the people Dad works with. There’s the High-Pitched Realtor, the Contractor Who’s Always Late, the Guy with the Tile, and his personal favorite, the Toilet Man. No matter what city they’re in, Dad always seems to know someone who knows someone else who can get the job done. It’s what makes his company successful, Jake guesses.

  The voice is impressed. It’s a new one Jake doesn’t recognize. Probably someone from Los Angeles for this project.

  “Nigel, this construction plan is amazing. I can’t believe how quick your team is at setting all of this up.”

  “I am the best project manager in the business.” Dad sounds ridiculously proud.

  “Would you be interested in another project of mine down in Long Beach?”

  “Eh, maybe. I usually go where the best work is.”

  Jake snorts. More like where the best paycheck is.

  “These plans are amazing. Have you been working in urban planning and design long?” Dad’s in full work-flattery mode, adopting the super bright tone Jake recognizes immediately.

  Jake enters the kitchen quietly, hoping he can sneak out without having to meet
the new work friend or whatever. He hates how awkward it is, how adults always seem to ask the weirdest questions, like what he wants to do or if he’s enjoying school. He catches a glimpse of a woman in the living room and wide outstretched arms holding large sheets of colorful paper.

  “Jake! Come take a look at the Pacific Crest of the future.” Dad beams at Jake, waving at him excitedly from the living room.

  Great.

  Jake mumbles a hello and waves awkwardly as he steps into the living room.

  “This is Isabella Reyes. She’s the one who brought me and the company out here to renovate this building.” Dad grins, pointing at the new plans. “It’s going to be spectacular.”

  “Hey there.” Isabella nods at him. She’s a tall woman with dark skin and slicked-back hair in a severe bun, dressed in a three-piece skirt suit and big clunky jewelry. “Isn’t it amazing? We’re going to turn this sad place into a state-of-the-art building where people can work, play, and live. Imagine being able to go to the grocery store, shop, and more without having to leave this beautiful central location!”

  “Uh, I don’t really do any of those things,” Jake says, wondering why she’s giving him what Dad calls “the pitch.” Jake already never leaves “this beautiful central location.”

  Isabella laughs. “Such a great sense of humor!”

  Right. That’s what adults always say when they don’t really understand what you say.

  “This complex is getting a major upgrade. Lush gardens and walking paths, a brand-new pool and fitness center for residents, and of course this whole street-facing entry building is going to be completely transformed. Small businesses or restaurants or anything, the possibilities are endless!” Isabella points at the plans and claps her hands together in excitement.

  Jake can see from the models that it’ll likely be a lot of work. Maybe Dad might actually stick around for the whole thing, who knows?