On the outside it may have been a mansion, but on the inside it could only have been described as a museum. I openly gawked at the lavish furnishings. The paintings looked suspiciously like ones we’d studied during the art history week of my freshman art class.

I knew, of course, that Poor Josh wasn’t exactly poor. I’d just never pictured him living in a home that needed less than five minutes’ notice to be photographed for Architectural Digest. But then again, I had trouble believing the Osbournes really lived in their mansion too.

“This is Josh’s wing,” the maid informed me as we walked toward a pair of heavy wood doors stained nearly black. As she opened the doors, the sound of gunshots and bombs erupted as if from all sides. Knowing it was synthetic didn’t make it any more comforting. “Go right on inside; you’ll have no trouble finding him.”

As the maid closed the double doors behind me, I turned to see the heavy wood was further thickened by some sort of spiky black foam substance that prevented the sound from disturbing the rest of the residence.

I strode onward, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Life-sized commandos were taking over a bunker on the largest flat-screen television I’ve ever seen. It was a wall, and not a small one. A green army helmet swung around; under it, Josh. He fumbled to hit a button that paused the noise and action. Jerking to his feet, he stared at me with crazy round eyes, completely confounded by my presence in his room. Kind of odd, considering the maid had clearly announced my arrival just moments before. I wondered if the maid staff had pulled so many cruel jokes on him over the years that he no longer trusted their announcements.

“S-S-Serena?!”

“Hi, Josh. I, um, need a favor.”

He quickly removed his helmet and held it respectfully in front of him, as if reporting to the general. “Y-y-you d-do?”

“Yeah, my computer met an untimely death.” At the hands of my psycho mother. I coughed and continued, “There’s something on the Internet I really need to access. It will only take a minute.”

“Oh, oh, okay.” Josh maneuvered awkwardly around the black leather couches and suede pillows that had bunkered him. He plodded to a wall of electronics in his combat boots. I couldn’t help but be amused that his army pants and black BDU vest perfectly matched the commandos on the screen. “This one’s already signed on, but um, um …”

I looked at the sweet setup, trying not to be wistful, but my geeky little heart was all atwitter. “Did you build this yourself?”

He nodded, his mop of hat-hair dancing with the motion. He started to wheeze and then glanced uncomfortably at his surroundings, probably looking for any dirty laundry that needed to be kicked under the couch.