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She smiled, almost disguising the question—the borderline concern—in her eyes as to why a complete stranger stood on her front porch.
    “Hi,” Michael said, a little too quickly. “Um, my name is Michael.” Then, for some inexplicable reason, his mind went totally blank and he couldn’t think of what to say next. He opened his mouth, then closed it.
    “Okay,” the woman finally said hesitantly. “Michael. Is there something I can help you with?”
    “Yes, um, yes,” he stammered. “I’m here to see Sarah. Is she your daughter?” He cringed—what a stupid thing to say. The answer was pretty obvious.
    “Sarah’s my daughter, yes. Does she know you? What’s this about?” Michael wasn’t sure when it had happened exactly, but the smile had vanished from her face.
    His heart thumped. He’d always used a mostly lifelike version of himself inside the Sleep, and Sarah knew that. And now he looked totally different. Still, it wasn’t so unusual to use a completely altered Aura. At worst, she would think he had lied about his appearance. He’d be able to convince her of who he was with words, and quickly.
    Sarah’s mom was obviously getting worried. “Maybe you should come back later,” she said, trying to sound polite.
    “I’m sorry,” Michael blurted out. “I’m sorry—I’m just nervous. Sarah is one of my best friends in the Sleep—I mean, in the VirtNet, and we’ve never met in the Wake before. I wanted to surprise her with a visit, and instead I knocked on your door and made you think I was a stalker. I’m sorry. Could you just tell her that Michael’s here? Mike the Spike? Please?” He smiled awkwardly.
    The woman had taken a step back, her eyes wide. It seemed a bad sign at first, but then her face lit up with a smile, this time more genuine.
    “Please?” Michael repeated, trying to show all the humility he possessed. I can be good at this human thing , he thought, making his own smile brighter.
    “Come in,” Sarah’s mom said as she swung the door open wide. “We’ve heard more about you than you could possibly know, young man. Our daughter has wanted to meet you in person for years, but we didn’t expect such a … surprise.” Another warm smile. “My name is Nancy.”
    Michael almost wished he had a hat—he felt like he’d take it off and wring it in his hands as he timidly stepped inside, like something out of an old black-and-white. He settled for nodding and keeping his eyes low. He didn’t want to screw up this one chance.
    Nancy closed the door behind him, then stepped to the other side of the hallway, which stretched toward the kitchen. Michael was pretty sure he’d heard her engage the lock—or maybe it was an automatic mechanism.
    “Gerard, you can come out now!” Nancy yelled. “It’s just a friend of Sarah’s!”
    A side door along the hallway swung open, creaking on its hinges. A man stepped out, a burly, bald, gruff-looking guy holding a small gun with white-knuckled fingers, pointing it directly at Michael.
    “Let’s go have a seat, then,” the man said.

    Michael sat in the middle of Sarah’s family’s couch, reminding himself over and over that he was not in a game, that the option of rushing the man—tackling him, perhaps, wrestling the gun away—was not actually an option. It was a truly terrible idea. The situation was so bizarre it felt like he was in the VirtNet. But in this case, a gunshot to the chest meant death, not an irritating do-over. He concentrated on just sitting still and making no sudden movements. And smiling.
    Sarah’s parents—were they really her parents?—sat across from him in separate chairs, her father resting the gun on his knee so that its barrel still pointed at Michael. At Michael’s face, actually: he could see the perfectly round black hole, a dark passageway to certain death. His chest felt tight as he took a breath of air.
    The sweet smile that had graced Sarah’s mother’s face had once again