The first few days of school were hard. Going from a soldier in an active warzone to a teenager going through late stage puberty was taxing.
Straight out of the gate he was ambushed with questions.
"How did it feel?"
"Do you have any scars?"
"How come you're so calm?"
"Why aren't you crying or something?"
It was a lot. And worse was the concern that some people showed him. Brenda, one of Jaime's friends before the crash, pulled him to the side before classes. "Are you okay? You looked like a deer in headlights there."
Jaime smiled and scratched the back of his head. "I'm okay, just a little overwhelmed."
She frowned. "Are you sure? You're not your usual idiot self. You know you can talk to me, right?"
He sighed, nodding. "Yeah, I know. Don't worry, I'm just stressed about my parents more than anything."
Brenda smiled knowingly, having been in a similar position. "Mama Reyes won't let you get a job?"
"Nope! I think I'm gonna try and make something online."
"Like what?"
He smirked. "You'll find out."
---
Coding was easier to learn that he thought it would be. Flappy Bird was a simple game afterall.
The principals were even more so: When pressed, the character would jump upwards before falling back down. The character itself wouldn't move, rather the world would. If the character hit the obstacles , it would die, losing a life. And every time it got past one, the score would increase.
Now here's where the money would come in: Every player only had five lives, and the only way to get more without waiting for hours was to buy them.
While incredibly annoying and may end up pushing some players away, it would undoubtably get a select few hooked. Every stupid mobile game had this type of player--The Whale.
This low percentage of players would single handedly pay the upkeep of the game even when they may be the only players left.
Jaime sat back in the wooden chair, empty Coke cans and ramen bowls sitting around the laptop where he was working. Running a tired hand through his hair, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Whew! The main game is done. Now I just have to set up the money transfer and it'll be ready to launch."
A startled snort sounded behind him, followed by some grumbling. Uncle Rudy suddenly appeared behind him. "Money transfer? What are you up to sobrino?"
Now startled himself, Jaime rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "I saw how everyone was struggling with money, so I sort of made a game that could give us a little help."
Rudy studied the screen for a moment before animatedly taking the laptop from him, pressing a few keys before trying the game for himself.
Five minutes later, the table had a new dent in it, and Rudy's face was split between shear anger and excitement. "Ohohoh, sobrino, this is gonna be great!"
He was suddenly in front of him, hands on his shoulders. "You just need to set up payments, right? I know a guy in the city who can help put together a business so it's all legal-like. Yeah! We're gonna make ban-"
"RUDY, JAIME! BED! NOW"
The both of them flinched heavily. It didn't matter if Rudy was already an adult, the chancla would hurt him just as much.
"It's best we do as ordered, sobrino. I'll get back to you when everything's sorted out."
Rudy crept out of the room with cartoon-level stealth, muttering about LLCs, marketing strategies, and "getting a buddy to whip up some spicy ad copy." Jaime barely heard him.
He leaned back in his chair again, staring at the flickering screen. The little pixel bird bounced happily across the sky, unaware it was now responsible for funding a struggling family in the middle of El Paso.
This wasn't what he expected reincarnation to be like. He figured gods and monsters, maybe capes and cosmic horrors—but instead, it was late-night ramen, bootleg coding tutorials, and dodging metaphysical footwear launched by his new abuelita.
Honestly? Not a bad trade.
A soft knock on the door broke his thoughts. Nana poked her head in, the hallway light casting her in a halo.
"Te vi trabajando. Estoy orgullosa de ti, Jaimecito," she said softly, voice warm. ("I saw you working. I'm proud of you, Jaimecito.")
Then, just as gently, she added, "Pero si no estás dormido en diez minutos, te despiertas barriendo el patio." ("But if you're not asleep in ten minutes, you're waking up sweeping the patio.")
Jaime gave her a sheepish thumbs-up. "Entendido."
As she closed the door, he looked back at the screen. The little game was simple. Dumb, even. But it was his dumb little game. And if it could buy Ma some rest, get Pa home before midnight, or help Nana stop stretching groceries like elastic—it'd be worth every line of code.
With a final click, he closed the laptop.
Tomorrow, he'd launch the app.
Tonight, he'd sleep like a man who just drop-kicked poverty square in the beak.