Cure for the Common Universe Read Online Free PDF Page A

Game talk is forbidden here, but the guy’s never played a video game in his life.”
    We passed doors stenciled with different symbols: a candle, a music note, a cauldron, a computer chip. At the end of the hall, Command stopped and pointed up a staircase to a metallic door.
    â€œGood luck,” he said.
    I swallowed and scaled the stairs.
    How the hell did I get here?
    How the hell did I get out ?
    I had to convince them I did not belong.
    If this was the meeting where the clinical director decided whether or not someone who’d been committed was truly addicted, whether there had been some kind of mistake andthis kid should be immediately released so he could go on his date with the cute girl from the car wash, then I was ready to be the most well-adjusted gamer he had ever met.
    This would require me to be a charming person . . . which I was not.
    I smoothed my Super Mario Bros. shirt and opened the metal door.
    â€œJuuuust a moment,” a slim man in a gray suit said. He was sitting at a small desk, pressing a row of stamps onto an inkpad, one by one.
    The office looked like it had been built for epileptics. No loud colors. No sharp corners. No decoration of any kind. Not even accreditations. There was a desk and two chairs, and that was about it.
    â€œDone!” The director stood from his desk, lightly punching at his hip to get all the way upright. His bright green eyes fixed on me. “Jaxon,” he said, in a voice that was warm but all business. He came around the desk and offered his hand. “Welcome to Video Horizons, the first video game rehabilitation center in the West.”
    I shook his hand.
    And even though I was exhausted . . .
    Even though I felt stripped and humiliated and out of my element . . .
    Even though I was terrified about not making it to my date . . .
    I smiled.
    â€œThanks for having me. It’s great to be here.”
    â€œReally?” The director took a step back and gave a pleased frown. “No one’s ever said that before.”
    His teeth looked like they’d never been flossed, and I could smell moss when he spoke.
    I smiled again and shrugged. “How often do I get a free desert vacation? Ha-ha.”
    The director shook his finger at me. “I like your attitude. Have a seat.”
    He gestured to the chair opposite his desk while easing his stiff hip into his. I sat. The fluorescent lights fizzed.
    Over the years I’d picked up a couple of sales tactics from my dad:
    1. Be passionate about the client’s interests.
    2. Mimic their actions to make them feel you’re relatable.
    3. Use humor as a lubricant.
    4. Act like a normal human being for once in your life.
    That last one was personal advice for me.
    â€œI’m the clinical director here at Video Horizons,” the man in the suit said. “My name is John Borno, but everyone here calls me G-man because I’m the master of games.”
    â€œ Pleasure, G-man,” I said.
    He smiled. “I like to personally greet each of our players when they first arrive.” He made a circular motion with his hand. “Give a rundown on how this place works.”
    Players? Hadn’t I been committed there to stop being a player?
    â€œLay it on me,” I said.
    â€œFirst of all, Jaxon, we encourage players not to use their real names while here. This allows you to retain patient confidentiality when you return to the real world and maintain a healthy online presence.” G-man dropped the business voice. “But it also means you get to come up with your very own player name. It can be anything you want. Anything.”
    â€œOoh!” I said, trying to sound enthused. “Um, gosh, this is exciting. How about . . .” I drew a total blank. That is, until a three-tailed fox helicoptered through my head. “Miles Prower?”
    â€œLove it!” G-man said. He clicked a pen and wrote it on