You are Roxas, and you are not at Chuck E. Cheese's.
...Ok, you might be at Chuck E. Cheese's. Wasn't sure how to end this one.
Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.
Dancing in rings. Holding hands. You had some candy melting in your fingernails.
"Roxas?" Mom pet your hair. The other moms were watching you. The other children were running without you.
"Mom," you say, eyes deep into an empty glass, on square cubes. "Can I have some more Sprite?"
Her sigh mouthed disappointment. She took your cup to the soda machine.
"Roxas!" Some brown pigltails shook over to you. This was Olette's birthday party. You were content on the edge of it.
"Olette!" Her friend jumped big, frozen in a jumping jack. "It's starting!"
No "see ya." Just bounced back to the gang. Her gang.
Mom came back, handed the Sprite over, fresh and fizzing.
She didn't look at you anymore. She watched Olette slap hands with another girl, smiling, and children banged their elbows into the stage. "Look! " Curtains squeaked open, unwrapping the bandstand. Five robots.
"Lights! Camera!" The announcer recording blasted through the pizza parlor. "Action!" Disco balls dazzled and rolled over the birthday gang. "Give it up, kids, for your favorite-"
Your eyes fixed on a tall, fluffy mouse, his plastic eyes wrenching left, right, and electronic jaw flapping to the jive.
Mom's hands rubbed your back. "Wow!"
Kill me.
"Go out there, Roxas."
I'll ruin it. They're smiling, and I'll ruin it.
"When's the pizza coming?" Your voice raised up over the music, over all the kids screaming. The toys looked so funny.
"They'll tell us when it's time to eat." Mom pushed her ultimatum. "Go, Roxas."
You didn't have legs anymore. You had Twizzlers.
You stood up shaking. Red, green, blue, lasers, passed over your eyes. Mystified.
You slinked out to the dance group. Metal lurched on the stage. Making friends with a rat in baggy-fresh blue jeans. That's who you wanted to spend time with. Dance with. Make eye contact with. Not-
"Faster!" Olette stuck her hands to yours, and you flew in a circle, and she looked really, really happy.
Happy birthday.
She was off to the next contender. Free, you pressed your belly to the rail, leaning in to see gears in the chicken's mouth. Strings in the banjo. Dust on the paws.
"Pizza!" Another mom wrangled the kids back into the party tables.
The employee parade carried golden hoards of pizza boxes on their shoulders.
"I want pepperoni!"
"I want cheese!"
I want to leave now.
You sat by your mom, and she looked proud. "You having fun, sweetie?"
"'Scuse me."
A tall teen leaned right over you. Dropped a pizza box on the table. Smelled like oil and tomatoes.
"That table, dear," said your mom, the stage director.
You craned your head up. Wild-haired boy in a smock. She didn't phase him. "You with the birthday party?"
Your mom had manners. "I'll take this over to Olette's mom."
The redhead looked at you. "So. What do you think?" He jerked his head to the stage.
He worked here. Say something nice. "It's...kinda cool."
He'd seen you watching it. His hand went to his chin. "Yeah?" He liked your attitude. "Maybe the first hundred times."
You both shared a smile, until he followed the workers back to the game room.
Pizza.
"Mom? I need to, um-"
"All right. Just be fast. She wants to do presents soon."
You wished you could just stay in the bathroom. The white tiles held squiggly lines, like confetti. You could have stared at them longer than opening presents.
You passed the roulette games and a motorcycle race. A teenager blocked your path.
Pizza guy. "It's the party kid!"
Your eyes went to his name badge. A. X. E. L.
He looked you over. "What are you?"
Dont talk to strangers.
"Nine?" He smiled a lot.
"Eight," you corrected.
He laughed a lot. "Little old for this place, right?"
"My friend's having a birthday party."
"Mm hm."
"I better go now." You scooted back.
"Wait." He was digging into his work pants. Digging for gold. "They give you tokens?"
You didn't want to light up. But kids eyes don't lie. "A couple."
He smirked. Big fingers cradled a pile of metal coins. "Here."
You stared at the bronze in his palm. Heard him sigh. He lifted your wrist, turned your hand over, dropped all that gold on you. Little hands couldn't hold the loot.
Chink. Chink. Chink.
Half the coins rained onto the floor. The teenager looked satisfied. "Win something," he grinned.
You slapped your other hand under the treasure hoard, and saved the coins from falling.
Red hair walked away. Probably had to make more pizza.
You had some space in your cargo pants. The coins left a powder feeling on your skin. You had them all picked up and crammed away, and your eyes skipped around to all the games you could test.
You weren't going back to the birthday party.
A couple of "Go!" buttons, a couple of joystick grabs later, and you had sharp paper tickets slicing your hands, waving in the air as you walked, determined, to the prize counter.
"Rubber frog, or Frooties?" Green eyes blinked under arched eyebrows.
A. X. E. L. You reached high to put tickets on the glass.
"Woah!" The tall boy leaned back, feigning amazement. Maybe not feigning.
You explained yourself. "I'm not good at the games."
He palmed the pile, entering the final count. "Whew!" He whistled. "107!"
You'd reached the Hacky Sack threshold. Plastic dino level. But you had your eyes on a Frisbee at 200.
Axel leaned on the register, watching blue eyes drink in the rainbow. Watched you glance quick from the high-end loot, like you were embarrassed.
"Um," you stopped your shuffle at the bean bags. "A blue one of those."
"Yeah," tongue clicking, "sorry, kid." The prize man crouched out of sight, yanking open a drawer. When he popped up again, he held a bright, green Frisbee. The one you'd had your eyes on. "You only got enough for this."
I don't. "But that's-"
"Catch." He flashed some teeth, and flicked his wrist.
You caught the disc, flat to your chest.
"Roxas!" Mom called you. Angry mom. "Where were you?"
Ding. Ding.
The register closed. The tickets went into a bin. "See ya," he waved.
Mom pulled your arm. "Come say goodbye to Olette."
That Frisbee felt smooth. Your sneakers squeaked.
Axel.
You wished you could thank him. You heard a jingle in your pocket.
Chink. Chink.
Your fingers pushed into fabric, colliding with a crusty coin. Last one. You had it out, up to your eyes. The smiling rat, waving at you.
Better save this one.
Other kids held suckers and mood rings, wrappers spilling to the carpet. Mom waved goodbye to moms. You wanted to say goodbye, too.
You turned around. Maybe he was carrying pizza to the next party. Maybe he was bestowing another child with free games. Maybe he would have given you a thousand-ticket boombox, if you wanted it.
Mom headed towards the door. "Let's go, Roxas. Put your coat on."
You looked back from the parking lot, into the striped windows. You thought you saw a tall boy walk past the plexiglass. You thought you saw red hair. You thought you'd never see him again.
Mom backed the minivan out of the parking space. "Roxas?" She talked to you with eyes in the rear-view mirror. You hugged the Frisbee, tired head drooping in your coat collar. "Did you have a good time?"