Tick. Tick. Tick.

           Regardless of year or current technology, some school traditions persisted. The students of Mr. Diaz’s 7^th grade science class, the last of the day, kept eyes peeled on the clock above the whiteboard as beckoning afternoon sunlight came in through the windows. The moving second hand of an analog clock provided a more real, tangible experience than the cold, unfeeling digital digits on any phone’s dim resting display.

           “Jace Baker,” Mr. Diaz’s friendly but direct voice snapped him out of a staring session. “C’mon, buddy, the clock isn’t going anywhere. All the tests and homework are done for the year, but I’d still really appreciate one last answer this semester.”

           “Oh, uh…” The hoodie-loving teen rubbed his strained eyes. “What was…”

           His best friend Laurie, at the next desk over and casually texting on her phone—Mr. Diaz wasn’t being strict today—glanced over and whispered, “Favorite fact.”

           “Oh, right,” Jace said before the teacher had to re-explain. “The coolest thing I learned. Um, off the top of my head… Lagrange points. Y-yeah, it’s interesting that there are invisible areas between celestial objects where gravity cancels out.”

           Mr. Diaz smiled. “Always glad to hear a genuine take-away. Ms. Hashita?” He looked at the bubbly bespectacled Emiko. “Do you still ‘adore’ those planetary rings?”

           “Well, yes,” she nodded approvingly, “but when we started getting into exoplanets and how horribly you’d die on some of them, that really made me think!”

           The red-haired self-aggrandizing Chad of the group, Chad, twisted around in his seat and smirked coyly at her, replying, “Hey, Em, you should come over and explore some worlds with me this summer. I have this new video game that lets you shoot—”

           “We don’t really have the same tastes in games,” Emiko said with a placid smile.

           As Chad frowned and grumbled, Mr. Diaz continued, “And finally, Laurie Skyler. Are you still all about black holes? I remember them giving you some existential dread.”

           “They’re neat,” she answered. “But there’s only so much we’ll ever know about them. Now I find neutron stars more fascinating.” She grinned and gestured by squeezing a fist with the other hand. “All the crushing pressure, maybe even making strange matter.”

           “I see! I bet you liked hearing about ‘nuclear pasta and lasagna,’ too, haha.” With that, the bell finally rang, and everyone jolted up for the door. Mr. Diaz spoke over the noise, “Okay, class, you’ve been great. Have fun, and discover new things this summer!”

           Once out in the crowded and clamorous school hall, the four friends shared their latest summer plans on the way to their lockers. As they emptied them out and removed the locks, their friends that ended 7^th grade in other classes joined them.

           “Hey, cuz,” the tall, amber-haired Warren greeted his cousin with a fist bump. He gave his baggy dark clothes a tug and opened his locker, having to catch some empty snack wrappers in the process that had gotten free from the rest of the mess. “What’d you settle on, plan-wise for today? You better not leave me hanging too long.”

           “Lor’s coming to my place first, and then my mom will bring us,” Jace explained. “Oh, and happy thirteenth, in person. About time you joined the teen club.”

           “Yeah, yeah,” Warren said quietly and looked about worriedly. “Don’t say that too loud, okay? It’s enough that I got texts from all you guys that made balloons fly around on my phone.”

           “Don’t say what, bruh?” Toby said as he slid into the scene, the popular kid with a phone glued to his hand. “Oh yeah, you’re the b-day boy. Ya know, you should show up wearing some serious drip for a change. Ditch these ‘leave me alone please’ clothes.”

           Warren groaned and gestured to Laurie. “Have you seen what Lor’s worn all year? Hair on her face, clothes as ‘broody’ as mine. But somehow she gets away with it.”

           “Nah, she’s different. She owns the look. You’re just like, ‘ugh, I’m so awkward.’”

           “The hell ever that means,” Warren muttered with an eye-roll.

           Self-conscious about comments on her appearance, Laurie tucked some of her longer hair behind an ear, then took the multicolor hacky sack off her backpack, which stayed attached with magnets and a clip. The others watched as she squeezed the bean ball again; a stress reaction and sight they had gotten used to seeing over the last year.

           “Aw, Lor, really? You’re stressed out on the last day of school?” the nerdy Jamie Goteaux groaned after joining the group. “Tch. And was I the only one who cleaned out their locker before said last day? Like, ya know, all the teachers told us to do?”

           “I didn’t need to clean out my locker. I never used it!” said Austin Kilkenny, the bigger yet physically fit lad of the group, as he gave his stuffed heavy backpack a jostle.

           “Don’t judge me, Jamie…” Laurie mumbled, and clenched her jaw. “Summer is a big change of pace. Of course I’m freaking out. That’s what I do now, remember?”

           “Laurie! You gotta learn to take it easy!” Emiko urged her with a shoulder shake. “You were never what you’d call ‘carefree,’ but you also were not so high-strung!”

           Austin added, “Yeah. You were bossy, but fun, until you got intense in 6^th grade.”

           Chad, ever the armchair psychologist, remarked, “Lor’s always had advice for the rest of us, but now I’m pretty sure it’s her who has some kind of nero-sis.”

           Clearly insulted, Laurie squeezed her hacky sack harder and snapped back, “If you’re going to misdiagnose someone—which I keep telling you is dangerous‑–at least say neurosis right. Can we just… not? I don’t want to go to a birthday party mad.”

           “Especially when it’s one of mine…” Warren replied. He closed his now empty locker, and the group made their way to the big doors leading to freedom. “Guys, please no drama, okay? I don’t know what it is about my parties, but they always seem to cause freakouts at some point. Jamie even got hives last year ’cause of a dumb argument.”

           “Nah, that’s been everyone’s parties the last couple years,” Jace noted. “Maybe it is some kind of stress, or things moving too fast. Hard to have fun sometimes…”

           “Yeah, I’m not about that,” Toby assured everyone. “I naturally avoid the cringe.”

           “You are pretty good at it, Tobes,” Emiko said, blushing—which irritated Chad.

           They passed the metal detectors and lone security guard, emerging into the sun-soaked space in front of the school, where kids were getting picked up or boarding the buses. Naturally, most everyone was on their phones, but a few Cooktonners known to hock goods or services were out with the traditional face-to-face experience.

           “Last chance to purchase some summer Pokémon services! Fully legit leveling and EV-training, ten bucks for a full party of six. Get a team ready for gen nine!”

           “Hey, Simon!” Jamie called out to the diminutive 6^th grader. “You never traded me back my Regidrago. Come on, bro, how long’s it take to do the Regigigas quest?”

           “Huh? Oh, sorry, Jamie,” he replied with a shrug. “I forgot about that. We can trade online tomorrow morning, okay? I’ll return him to ya. Now let me get back to it before you scare away the customers! I need this—my allowance isn’t getting any better.”

           Spotting his mom Lucy waiting in the pickup line nearby, Jace waved off most of his friends. “See you guys soon. And don’t forget to bring Warren’s presents.”

           “Let’s kick this summer’s ass, Jace!” Chad said over the less notable farewells.

           “What does he mean when he says things like that?” Laurie asked Jace with a sigh.

           “Hey, Mom.” Jace opened the back door to his mom’s new electric Volkswagen. They slipped inside, where he answered, “I… dunno. The guys act so aggressive sometimes.”

           Away from the sprawling neighborhood of Desert Tree, the business towers of Royal Valley’s urban center overlooked the city with glass facades reflecting the sunlight. Occupying one of the higher floors of the modern Victory Plaza building was the city’s small but so-far-successful game development company, RV Indie.

           “Anyway… you know these sales meetings bore me as much as anyone, so let’s wrap this up,” Wes Colton rushed to conclude a monthly get-together in the conference room, the TV on the wall displaying figures and statistics mirrored from his phone. The lead developers and marketing and public relations people at the table listened to every word, despite Wes’ ongoing disinterest in this part of the job. “To sum it up, our newest game, Summer ’96, is a year old now and our latest Steam sale gave us a big boost. Piracy is still really low, showing the fan devotion to our company quality and a favored price point. We can thank the ongoing market interest in ‘retro’ pixel games for a tailwind, and… blah, blah, blah.” He pocketed his phone and looked at his seated creative partner and childhood friend, Jared Reiner, as always scanning social media for posts about their company. “Look, I’ll be honest. I’ve made all the games I set out to make, told the stories I always dreamed about sharing. I need inspiration, new ideas. I know we got the style and framework for our next game cooking, but… I can’t think of a tale to tell.”

           “We’ll get there, Wes,” Jared assured him without looking up, his thumbs tapping out a post. “Something always hits us eventually. Or just you. I still say we should take the assets we made already and create our first platformer. Gotta take those risks, man.”

           “I’d suggest bringing in some coders experienced with platforming engines if we go that route,” Brian, the head artist, said. “Even 2-D physics are not easy to get right.”

           “Sure,” Wes replied. “We can look into the feasibility of it. But we’re only going to dip our feet in the waters of Mario or Metroid if we can make it look good and play fast and fun. Indies can pull it off sometimes, but I’d want to see something in the quality range of, like, 2018’s Celeste, at least. And, Mark? I don’t like singling anyone out, but if you suggest turning to crappy and creepy AI-generated art again to cut costs, I won’t laugh it off this time. I employ talent like Brian Moreland here for a reason, guys.”

           As Brian looked bashful and Mark sank into his seat, the office secretary opened the conference room door and reported, “Mr. Colton, they’re here.”

           “All right,” Wes huffed. “Back to work, everyone. I got another speech to give.”

           He and his team returned to the main space, with Wes heading to the corner that had the fun break time stuff like old arcade cabinets and a ping-pong table to meet a few visiting VIPs. He forced a smile and plucked a certain glass display case off the wall; in it was a classic item he liked to show off whenever this time of the year rolled around.

           “Hey, everyone. I know it’s exciting to meet one of the owners of the company, but I need to keep this short. I have to get to my kid’s birthday bash at King Arcade. So, RV Indie’s design philosophy is… ‘what if polygons were never invented?’ We see our titles as the thirty-year-old evolution of the 16-bit golden age. Put another way, what if we pulled a game out of the mid-90s and gave it the huge capital and talent modern games get? Crystal clear HD graphics, beautiful animations in infinite colors… and yet still just clusters of tiny squares. Now, sure, we also love playing the latest triple-A big developer stuff when it comes out, but when players want a break from complicated worlds and all their DLC, we’re here to continue the legacy of story-telling basics, where players are allowed to project some imagination onto characters and environments.”

           Wes held up the display case, his yellowed Super Nintendo sealed within. “This opened my mind to the possibilities of what can be crammed into kilobytes of memory; the space to story richness ratio. The memories this little box gave me, and my friends…” He zoned out a bit. “She isn’t pretty, but she’s a true antique, and I’ll never Retrobright her aged ABS plastic yellow coat. Because patina is… earned. Huh. That’s good.”

           “Um, Mr. Colton, sir?” the youngest of the three interns seated on beanbag chairs spoke up with a raised hand. “Is that, like, an old game console?”

           Wes grimaced slightly, inhaled sharply, and cleared his throat. “Okay, that guy over there, Mark—he’ll orientate you. You three officially get started Monday.”

           Jared, who had been watching from a nearby wall, shuffled up to Wes as the recent Royal University grads moved on and remarked with a sly grin, “You’re getting better at that, Wes. Hey, cheer up, dude. The kids love our summer intern program.”

           “I’m not sad,” Wes said, staring down at his immortalized SNES. “It’s all of this performative crap, the talks… I want to get back to creating, like when all this was new.”

           “Yeah. Yeah… I know, man. But, hey, nothing like being the awkward parent at a kid’s birthday party to make you feel young again. Er, teen’s party now, I suppose.”

           “Greeeat…” It seemed to hit Wes for the first time. “I have a teenager now.”

           King Arcade, Royal Valley’s major attraction, was a sprawling video game themed amusement park with its own neighboring water park. The place had been the youthful heart of the city since 1995, and every kid—and their parents—knew it well. Today, though, the sights and sounds of its big rides could only be experienced through the second floor window of Galaxy Hub Arcade’s special occasion room; the red wristbands the party-goers wore only gave them access to the arcade building itself, along with a private console gaming giant TV. And cheap pizza and birthday cake, of course.

           Wall-sized vinyl stickers depicting some of the park’s classic mascots, like Tude the Squirrel, Wizard Rocker, Insectus, and the jolly arcade prince himself stood watch over a room designed for teens. Above the television were the painted words, “Party-Gamer Zone!”, and on the center table was Warren’s present pile. Most of the gifts had been opened. Video games, a controller, shirts with trendy pop-culture references, and a new pair of sneakers were among them.

           “All right, Sally. I’m sure I saved the best for last,” Warren said to his anxious eight-year-old sister, her present still secure under her arms. “Let’s see what ya got.”