Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow

by Gabrielle Zevin

But he took Sadie’s shoulders in his hands—she was a full inch taller than him—and he looked into her eyes. “Sadie,” he said. “Do you know why I want to make a game?” “Of course. Because you foolishly think it will make you rich and famous.” “No. It’s very simple. I want to make something that will make people happy.” “That seems trite,” Sadie remarked. “I don’t think it is. Do you remember when we were kids, and how much fun it used to be to spend the whole afternoon in some game world?” “Of course,” Sadie said. “Sometimes, I would be in so much pain. The only thing that kept me from wanting to die was the fact that I could leave my body and be in a body that worked perfectly for a while—better than perfectly, actually—with a set of problems that were not my own.” “You couldn’t land at the top of a pole, but Mario could.” “Exactly. I could save the princess, even when I could barely get out of bed. So, I do want to be rich and famous. I am, as you know, a bottomless pit of ambition and need. But I also want to make something sweet. Something kids like us would have wanted to play to forget their troubles for a while.” Sadie was moved by Sam’s words—in the years she had known him, he so rarely mentioned his own pain. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.”