James shakes his hair out of his eyes. You need to know what’s going on, Michael, he whispers, his voice nearly taken by the breeze, As much as they’re telling us anyhow.

Then, weighed down by what we’ve seen, neither of us says anything else as we walk home, except to say goodbye at the subway.

Becky has nothing to do and Andy is on patrol, so I give in to her pleading to go see War Games at the Loews on 83rd.

Three-fifty for a movie ticket? Are they kidding? Becky grumbles as she digs out her money.

I’ll pay you back, I say.

No, I invited you. It’s really the principle of the thing, she says. They’re going to play the movie whether the theater is full or empty, so why not cut people a break?

We get our tickets and popcorn, and grab two seats in the middle. I consider telling her I’m worried about Connor, and about the memorial James and I stumbled onto, and about what I know about why James is being so withdrawn, but then the movie starts, and it feels good to lose myself in something.

Even if that something is the idea that we’re only a Galaga game away from nuclear war.

As we walk out after the movie, Becky grabs my hand and asks, You don’t think that could really happen, do you?

I shake my head. The idea of someone using a game to get into government files sounds absurd. I tell her, James says it’s ten grand to buy one of those new Apple computers for your house. Who the hell is going to fork out that kind of money?

Her hand relaxes in mine. You’re right, she says, not like Russia is wired into the local video store.

I think about telling her that I have a feeling what we need to be afraid of is far, far closer to home, but I don’t because I’d rather do the worrying for both of us.

Less than two weeks left of junior year.

I used to look forward to summer vacation.

Visits to our grandparents’ place upstate.

Connor and I playing ball in the local league.

Camp.

Coney Island.

Free time.

Fun.

This year, Connor is working. Or not feeling great. Or both.

And neither of my parents have asked about my plans.

Have you seen this? Becky asks days later, slipping a page from the Village Voice into my hands during homeroom.

She leans over my shoulder and reads out loud: The Club 99 Arts Group has cemented their next piece with the addition of wunderkind James Barrows, last seen in the group’s production of Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht’s Mahagonny. Barrows is said to be writing their next effort according to a recent press release and, if insider reports are to be believed, the enigmatic young man with the delicate features that have all club kids abuzz, will bring the group its next hit.

Becky and I stare at each other. At the article’s photo showing James in an absurd pair of tweed pants with suspenders.