There were no diversions -- that is to say, overheard conversations about DVI -- on the way to gym today. That was good. I was already feeling a bit self-conscious about only being level one when classmates -- many of whom I would not have considered to be gamers -- were already reaching levels three, four, or five. Sure the family meeting, the unwanted PvP, and the failed first fight had all taken time, but it probably wasn’t enough time that I would have made level two. Certainly not to level three.
We were going to have to venture into the populated instances rather than a private training instance, it seemed.
Anyway, that was for tonight, though we’d probably talk about it after school when we could all get together. Susie, no doubt, would already have some ideas even if she was going to be more focused on crafting than fighting.
The dress code for gym was a bit more lax than for the classrooms, in part because performance clothing and athletic apparel had different functions and requirements from casual attire. True, most of the dress code didn’t apply to me anyway. Or, rather, it did, but nothing I’d normally wear would run afoul of the requirements. But tank tops, which were verboten in class (sleeves were required) and relatively short shorts (not reaching beyond the fingertips, the standard for dresses, skirts, and shorts) were par for the course.
In the heat of the summer -- and late spring and early autumn -- I might reach for a pair of shorts, but they’d be almost swim trunks in length. In fact, growing up on the beach and playing a lot of volleyball with Mika, Jenna, and our friends meant I had a lot of swim trunks. But for the rest of the school year, and we were now in early November, I preferred sweat pants to shorts for gym, even when class was mostly indoors. And I eschewed tank tops for loose tees. Just personal preference, nothing against showing a little shoulder.
And so it was that I walked up the stairs from the boys’ locker room to the gym in my usual berry red (Jenna called it burgundy) sweats and matching, short-sleeve baseball tee. The front of the shirt was unadorned white, but the back featured a prominent lucky number thirteen in the same berry red. And where a name would normally be, mine just said “Regen R 8”; obviously a healer reference. This, and four others like it with different phrases, had been a gift from Mika at the start of this school year.
Other than for the athletic teams and squads, the school didn’t mandate uniforms. They had, for a while the generation before my parents and perhaps way back in the depths of history, but too many of my grandparents’ generation had protested the uniforms -- both for “we’ve never done it that way” and the not unsubstantial budgetary hit of needing a third series of clothing (that is, casual, church, and then school uniforms) for kids. Consequently, we weren’t required to wear school colors even for gym class.
And most of us didn’t. Monica, as a cheerleader, was usually in blue and gold or blue and white. But the rest of us were a veritable rainbow. Mika, for instance, generally wore a pair of hunter green running shorts to gym. And Katy, Kim, and Courtney -- the freshmen trio that seemed to always be first in the gym -- were currently in bright colors: red for Katy, turquoise for Kim, and hot pink for Courtney.
Chelsea, by contrast, wore muted colors. She was already in the gym as well, sitting off by herself in heather grey sweats and a baggy tee. I crossed the gym and sat near, though not immediately next to, her. “Hey, mind if I sit here?” I asked as I started to stretch. “We’re a group for the next couple weeks, so we should stick together, right?”
She shrugged, then nodded. “Sure, go ahead.” She seemed distracted, but started stretching as well.
“Thinking about the game?” I asked.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah, sorta. It’s not what I expected.”
“Hmm? What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. Oh, just … I wasn’t expecting to have to fight as a crafter. But I need money for supplies and training.”
“Oh, hey, James, Chelsea,” Monica sat to my side, a little closer to me than I had sat to Chelsea. “Supplies and training for what?”
“Oh. Good morning, Monica.” It was a testament to both Monica’s friendliness as well as to the way Chelsea had opened up as part of our volleyball group yesterday that the normally shy and reserved girl greeted the cheerleader right away. She had become a member of the group and not just a classmate going through activities together. “Supplies and training for crafting. I want to design and make clothing, but materials and apprenticeships aren’t cheap.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“A fashion designer?” exclaimed Monica. “Would you be up to taking commissions once you get going? Or do you prefer to just make your own designs?”
“Well …,” Chelsea hesitated, “I don’t think there will be enough people interested in buying if all I did was create my own ideas. But I don’t know that I’ll be good enough for commissions!”
“Everyone got their start somewhere,” I said. “And from a game perspective, even beginner crafter stuff is probably an upgrade for someone, and I bet once you figure it out, there’ll be more demand than you can easily supply.”
Monica nodded, “I bet most people didn’t do crafting. It’s usually that way in games. DVI might be a bit different since most people didn’t normally play games before, either. But you could be one of the very few people making clothes in Chipac. I bet you’re gonna be quite popular!”
She leaned across me to pat Chelsea’s leg. “So let me get my commissions in before you have a line out the door, okay? And maybe we can help you get started.”
Chelsea looked a bit overwhelmed and not yet ready to respond, so I added another two bits’ worth. “Susie’s a crafter and she got started on something yesterday. So are my parents; they’re going to run a pastry shop” -- Like Ace, I wasn’t going to try and remember the French word -- “and I bet they’ll want uniforms and aprons and such. Also, Mika did some questing yesterday, all in town stuff. She probably has some ideas about making money without fighting. But … if you want to fight …?”
Our little group might be growing again. Take the five of us, then add Jocelyn and Monica, and maybe Chelsea. That’s eight, not including parents or other friends of friends like maybe Anna and her Cryomancer. It was sooner than I had thought, but maybe we should look into forming an official guild within DVI as well.
But that was definitely putting the cart before the horse.
Anyway, Mika showed up just then and -- with a glance at how close Monica was sitting to me -- sat in front of us. “Guess I’m leading this merry band in some warm-ups,” she said. “Gotta be ready for whatever Coach Carole throws at us tomorrow for the Mini-Olympics.”
Monica laughed, “Shouldn’t there be an opening ceremony first? Parades and lighting the Olympic Flame?”
From my right, Chelsea’s half-said, half-sung, “We didn’t start the fire. It was always burning since the world’s been turning,”
“Billy Joel? Very much some dad music there, Chels,” said Monica.
“Ah, sorry, it just sorta came to mind.”
“Oh, no probs. Your dad’s got good taste in music, then. Personally, though, I prefer a little bit of The Bangles.” She grabbed my hand, “‘Is this burning, an eternal flame?’” Her singing voice was soft but warbly. Then with a wink, she just as quickly released my hand.
Fire and flame? “Well, what other response is there than a bit of Johnny Cash?” I said. And though I didn’t try to sing, I recited a bit of lyrics myself. “‘I fell into a burning ring of fire. I went down, down, down, and the flames went higher.”
“Oh, good response!” Monica laughed.
“Looks like ‘there’s smoke on the water, fire in the sky.’” Not to be left out of the burgeoning fire lyrics game, Mika put in her own two bits, though her tone was more than a bit wry. I shot her an inquisitive glance, but she just arched an eyebrow and smiled.
“I thought the fire was ‘on the mountain, lightning in the air’?” asked Chelsea, both derailing the moment and proving she was already effectively a member of the group.
“Oh, the girl’s on fire!”
Both Monica and Mika had the same spark of an idea and spoke at once, only slightly out of sync. Then they looked at each other and broke into laughter.
Mika was the first to speak again, “Well, Coach Carole has seen us for attendance and the day is nice.” She stood, “Let’s head out to the track. We can finish the warm-up stretches there, then do a bit of jogging.”
The rest of us stood. “Don’t all the fire and flames count as enough of a warm up?” I asked.
Mika bapped my arm. “No.”
The rest of gym class was then mostly jogging interspersed with stretches, light aerobics, and the occasional short sprint. Mika paired up with Chelsea, slowing her own pace to keep her company and provide motivation and encouragement during the running and jogging. That left Monica to pair up with me.
As the class hour drew to an end, we walked two laps as a cooldown before heading off to our separate locker rooms. During the walk, though, Monica had an idea.
“You know,” she began, “if we’re going to be a team, a mini-team sure, but a team nonetheless … we should have uniforms or at least matching outfits. What would you all say to team shirts for the mini-olympics?”
“That’s tomorrow. Is there enough time?” Chelsea asked.
“Yeah. I can go shopping across the river after practice and get my dad to silkscreen names and numbers this evening when we get back before login time.”
“‘We’?” I asked.
“Sure. James, wanna come shopping with me?”
“Uhhh … I expect I’d have to get permission.”
“I’ll allow it,” Mika winked.
“Not from you! Mom and Dad probably should know if I’m going out of state ….”