Chapter Text
Funland Arcade was where the cool kids hung out.
When pinball became popular in the 1930s, Funland was where to find it. Kids loved the games; adults loved that it was the only place in town with a basement, and therefore a bomb shelter. The basement was flooded by 1950, or as Funland called it officially, the water park era.
When Space Invaders came along in the 70s, Funland had it. Two mayoral elections had been decided there, and that only counted the ones people knew about. As goes Funland, so goes Beach City had been the motto from 1972 to 1980, picked out in lights above the grill.
And this morning—
In spite of all nature turning against it!
It had achieved its greatest feat yet:
“MEAT BEAT MANIA!”
The new game cabinet came out of a crate just hours after the storm settled, delivered by a pair of serious-looking Japanese men. As the responsible adult on the scene—nearly old enough to rent a car!—Harold Smiley had signed for it and accepted the key to the coin compartment with a dramatic flourish. A few patrons close by obliged with applause.
He knew when he laid eyes on it that this was the best summer job he’d ever have.
There was something about it, the sheer verve of the highest-rated meat-based rhythm and dance game ever produced, its polished hams lustrous and ready for their first dance party. He grabbed onto them, testing their heft, then bobbed down to plug in the electrical cord.
A blast of J-Pop filled the space, and the smattering of applause turned to cheers.
Only one person looked studiously unimpressed by it all: Greg Universe.
He was leaning nonchalantly against the claw machine, waiting to be noticed.
Where he’d been for several hours now.
“What are you doing?”
That was all it took to make him jolt, hair whipping as he turned to the voice.
“It’s something you wouldn’t know anything about. Chilling. Playing it …”
About three seconds went by.
“… cool.”
“I’ll have you know,” said Pearl, “where we’re from, no one plays it cool better than me.”
“That explains a lot,” Greg snorted.
“For someone who tries to act relaxed all the time, you startle very easily.”
“You snuck up on me!”
“So? Play it cool.”
A burst of noise caught their attention. Meat Beat Mania had sprung to life and was in demo mode. Budding improv comic that he was, Smiley was soliciting rooster impressions to decide who would have the honor of first play. A boy with an eyepatch went first.
“See?” said Greg. “That’s what happens when you don’t play it cool. You end up clucking like a chicken in front of everyone in town.” He crossed his arms, expression sour. “Instead of being who you want to be.”
“Is who you want to be the guy at the back of the room nobody notices?”
“If that’s what it takes,” Greg sniffed, “to be authentic.”
The mayor’s son had stepped up on the Meat Beat Mania platform serving as an impromptu stage. He cleared his throat, fist to his mouth, sharing a nervous glance with Smiley. Then he let out a warbling cry of absurd proportions: Half Swiss mountaineer, half Rhode Island Red.
There was a long silence.
Greg’s gaze ticked to Pearl, catching her eye and directing it as if to say See?
It was impossible to know where in the crowd the first snicker came from. A snicker became a giggle, a giggle became a chuckle, and soon the room was swept in a wave of full-throated laughter. Smiley was bent double in the moment before he grabbed Bill Dewey’s hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have our winner!”
The laughter gave way to more cheers and applause. Some in the crowd dispersed to the skee-ball tables or the burger counter. Others formed a line for when Bill, flush with victory, would run out of quarters — however long it might take, for he had the lucky first play.
Pearl summed up her thoughts: “Very strange human behavior.”
Greg answered with a wordless grunt.
“Not very cool at all,” she needled.
“Pearl, is there a reason you’re here? You’re cramping my style.”
“As a matter of fact,” said Pearl, sauntering around the claw machine to center herself in his line of sight, “since you’re clearly not busy, I thought we could talk about equitable ways to schedule our respective time with Rose under our new arrangement.”
Greg paused, waiting for something else, something more—
Finally, he ventured: “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am. Is it not cool to be serious?”
“Pearl, we can’t just divvy up time with Rose on some schedule.”
“I think you’ll find that we can.”
Greg took in Pearl’s brittle-bright smile and sighed.
“Fine,” he said. “Step into my office.”
***
“You know, when you said step into my office, I thought you meant the van.”
“No,” said Greg. “My van is my sanctuary.”
The Hyper Space ride loomed at the edge of the amusement park, its sign and glowing stars all dark. Rain pattered on the surface, pooling on the steel stairs that led up to the door. Greg glanced around before checking it, finding it unlocked. Then he waved Pearl in.
“Oh, I see,” said the Gem. “It’s because your gimmick is space.”
“Shhh,” went Greg, ducking inside.
Power was cut to most of the rides before the storm, and Hyper Space was no exception. But somewhere along the way, someone hung a battery-operated paper lantern from the center of the room, giving the place a cheerfully incongruous peachy glow.
“You know, this thing wouldn’t even get you out of Earth’s atmosphere.”
“Oh, I’ve been higher that that in here,” Greg said with a snicker.
“What do you mean?”
Greg gave Pearl a look, considering how much to explain as he resumed his coolest slouch.
“I mean,” he started carefully, “whenever this ride is closed for the season, they let me use it for whatever I want. It’s a really good place to get away for a few hours and, y’know, think.”
Pearl knocked on the wall, which returned a resounding thump.
“The acoustics in here must be horrible. I thought you were supposed to be a musician.”
“Yeah, but … sometimes you just gotta sit and let ideas come to you from the cosmos.”
Pearl let out a heavy sigh before reaching into her gem, retrieving a bundle of manila folders. Each was packed with papers: Calendars, index cards, spreadsheets and more, separated with colored tags. Without a word of explanation, she thrust the whole package at Greg.
“What's all this?” he asked, annoyance edging the words.
“Start with the items under the green tag. I took the liberty of working out a trial itinerary for us to use when planning our individual time with Rose. It gives me sixty percent of the time and you thirty percent, which I think you’ll agree is more than fair.”
“What happened to the other ten percent?”
“Well, she needs some alone time! Don’t be greedy, Gregory.”
Greg had started picking through the papers like they were a pile of leaky refuse. He looked up, eyes narrowed. “Look, I don’t care if you never call me Mr. Universe, but if we’re gonna do this, you need to learn that my name’s Greg.”
“Is that important?”
“Yes!” Before he could think twice, he added: “Only my parents call me Gregory. It’s weird.”
Pearl’s gaze flicked from Greg’s hands up to his face for a brief instant. There was something there she didn’t understand, she knew—and the awareness was uncomfortable. Things she didn’t understand meant risk, and risk she couldn’t account for meant danger.
“Fine, Greg. But keep looking. You need to know how all of this works.”
“What’s this?” Greg asked, holding up a page.
“It’s a Gantt chart.” To his blank stare, she went on: “It describes the various tasks involved in completing a project, their dependencies, and how long each takes. In this case, it’s the official hand-off process for Stakeholder B—that’s you—to leave Rose with Stakeholder A.”
“Uh-huh,” Greg said blearily. “Why don’t I get to be Stakeholder A? I grill all the time!”
Pearl ignored this.
“If you follow it carefully, we won’t need to see each other again for the next five years.”
“Okay, and—” Greg leafed through the pages. “What happens if literally anything changes?”
“Nothing will change with us. If something changes with you, you file a motion to amend.”
“I don’t understand this at all.”
“That’s because you’re holding it upside down.”
“No, I mean—” Slapping the folder closed, he asked: “Is this how life works for Gems?”
“More or less.”
“Well, it won’t work here!” Greg shoved the folders briskly under his arm, and Pearl winced. “This is Earth, and I’d really li—I mean—I want equal representation. Yeah! That’s—that’s one of the best things about being a human.”
“Mmhm. And exactly what would that entail?”
“For one thing, I want half the time with Rose.”
“Minus personal time.”
“Forty-five percent, then.”
“Fine … forty percent.”
“For another …” He pulled out the folder again, looking over it to confirm a hunch. “Why do all these schedules only run until eight o’clock at night?”
“Since humans need sleep and we don’t, it only makes sense for me to be with Rose through the night. What possible purpose could there be in her looking at your inert body for almost half the solar cycle? What a boring way to spend one’s time!”
“My concerts never start before eight! And what about—you know …?”
Greg wheeled a hand in the air. Pearl stared, uncomprehending.
“You know … cuddle time?”
“You can’t cuddle at mid-day?”
Greg coughed.
“It’s not what you’d call usual.”
“None of this is usual. But I guess if it’s that important to you … you can have some nights.”
“And concerts!”
“And concerts,” Pearl sighed. “About that. Could you start having them all on Thursdays?”
“No can do. All of that stuff is handled by my manager.”
“Manager …”
Pearl stopped for a moment, silent, pupils smaller.
“You mean that other young human who smells like garlic?”
“It’s his aftershave,” Greg confirmed, scratching the back of his head. “Marty is in charge of booking all the venues, the equipment rentals, and, well, everything. If I asked him to work around something like this? He’d probably charge me an extra hundred dollars a month!”
“I see. And how much do you pay this Marty?”
“Well, nothing, right now. But I owe him about …”
Greg stopped a while to count on his fingers.
“Ten thousand dollars? I guess. He keeps track of that, too.”
“Uh-huh …”
“Plus the standard sixty-five percent.”
“I see.”
“But that’ll all be behind me once I—”
One hand flat, he mimed a spaceship soaring past.
“Shooooom! Take off!”
Pearl was frowning, her mind at work on three different issues. She held out a hand and Greg, unsure, raised his own for a high five. Pearl twiddled her fingers, requesting the folders, and he gave them over. Back they went into her gem, which made her only a little queasy.
“I can see that if we want to make any progress, I’ll have to talk to this Marty character,” said Pearl. “I’ll be back. You … just try not to get into any trouble.”
“You got it,” said Greg, fingers crossed behind his back. This was the only time he could remember when he could be sure Pearl wouldn’t barge in on him and Rose at the worst possible moment. He intended to make the most of it.
Pearl gave him a long, suspicious look—
Then, without saying more, turned and walked out, closing the door behind her.
The jolt woke Hyper Space out of its slumber and it began to rotate slowly.
Greg was left alone to sit and spin.