The impossible fortress / Jason Rekulak.

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"A sweet, funny, and moving tribute to nerds and misfits everywhere." --Seth Grahame-Smith, New York Times bestselling author of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

Until May 1987, fourteen-year-old Billy Marvin of Wetbridge, New Jersey, is a nerd, but a decidedly happy nerd.

Afternoons are spent with his buddies, watching copious amounts of television, gorging on Pop-Tarts, debating who would win in a brawl (Rocky Balboa or Freddy Krueger? Bruce Springsteen or Billy Joel? Magnum P.I. Or T.J. Hooker?), and programming video games on his Commodore 64 late into the night. Then Playboy magazine publishes photos of Wheel of Fortune hostess Vanna White, Billy meets expert programmer Mary Zelinsky, and everything changes.

A love letter to the 1980s, to the dawn of the computer age, and to adolescence--a time when anything feels possible --The Impossible Fortress will make you laugh, make you cry, and make you remember in exquisite detail what it feels like to love something--or someone--for the very first time.

Excerpt provided by Syndetics

The Impossible Fortress 10 REM *** WELCOME SCREEN *** 20 POKE 53281,0:POKE 53280,3 30 PRINT "{{CLR}}{{WHT}}{{12 CSR DWN}}" 40 PRINT "{{7 SPACES}}THE IMPOSSIBLE FORTRESS" 50 PRINT "{{7 SPACES}}A GAME BY WILL MARVIN" 60 PRINT "{{9 SPACES}}AND MARY ZELINSKY" 70 PRINT "{{2 CSR DWN}}" 80 PRINT "{{7 SPACES}}(C)1987 RADICAL PLANET" 90 GOSUB 4000 95 GOSUB 4500 MY MOTHER WAS CONVINCED I'd die young. In the spring of 1987, just a few weeks after my fourteenth birthday, she started working nights at the Food World because the late shift paid an extra dollar an hour. I slept alone in an empty house while my mother rang up groceries and fretted over all the terrible things that might happen: What if I choked on a chicken nugget? What if I slipped in the shower? What if I forgot to turn off the stove and the house exploded in a fiery inferno? At ten o'clock every evening, she'd call to make sure I'd finished my homework and locked the front door, and sometimes she'd make me test the smoke alarms, just in case. I felt like the luckiest kid in ninth grade. My friends Alf and Clark came over every night, eager to celebrate my newfound freedom. We watched hours of TV, we blended milk shakes by the gallon, we gorged on Pop-Tarts and pizza bagels until we made ourselves sick. We played marathon games of Risk and Monopoly that dragged on for days and always ended with one angry loser flipping the board off the table. We argued about music and movies; we had passionate debates over who would win in a brawl: Rocky Balboa or Freddy Krueger? Bruce Springsteen or Billy Joel? Magnum P.I. or T. J. Hooker or MacGyver? Every night felt like a slumber party, and I remember thinking the good times would never end. But then Playboy published photographs of Wheel of Fortune hostess Vanna White, I fell head over heels in love, and everything started to change. Alf found the magazine first, and he sprinted all the way from Zelinsky's newsstand to tell us about it. Clark and I were sitting on the sofa in my living room, watching the MTV Top 20 Video Countdown, when Alf came crashing through the front door. "Her butt's on the cover," he gasped. "Whose butt?" Clark asked. "What cover?" Alf collapsed onto the floor, clutching his sides and out of breath. "Vanna White. The Playboy. I just saw a copy, and her butt's on the cover!" This was extraordinary news. Wheel of Fortune was one of the most popular shows on television, and hostess Vanna White was the pride of our nation, a small-town girl from Myrtle Beach who rocketed to fame and fortune by flipping letters in word puzzles. News of the Playboy photos had already made supermarket tabloid headlines: The SHOCKED AND HUMILIATED VANNA claimed the EXPLICIT IMAGES were taken years earlier and most definitely not for the pages of Playboy. She filed a $5.2 million lawsuit to stop their publication, and now--after months of rumors and speculation--the magazine was finally on newsstands. "It's the most incredible thing I've ever seen," Alf continued. He climbed onto a chair and pantomimed Vanna's cover pose. "She's sitting on a windowsill, like this? And she's leaning outside. Like she's checking the weather? Only she's not wearing pants!" "That's impossible," Clark said. The three of us all lived on the same block, and over the years we'd learned that Alf was prone to exaggeration. Like the time he claimed John Lennon had been assassinated by a machine gun. On top of the Empire State Building. "I swear on my mother's life," Alf said, and he raised his hand to God. "If I'm lying, she can get run over by a tractor trailer." Clark yanked down his arm. "You shouldn't say stuff like that," he said. "Your mother's lucky she's still alive." "Well, your mother's like McDonald's," Alf snapped. "She satisfies billions and billions of customers." "My mother?" Clark asked. "Why are you dragging my mother into this?" Alf just talked over him. "Your mother's like a hockey goalie. She changes her pads after three periods." He had an encyclopedic knowledge of Your Mother jokes, and he unleashed them at the slightest provocation. "Your mother's like a Japanese steakhouse--" Clark flung a pillow across the living room, hitting Alf square in the face. Enraged, Alf threw it back twice as hard, missing Clark and toppling my glass of Pepsi. Fizzy foam and soda went sloshing all over the carpet. "Shit!" Alf exclaimed, scrambling to clean up the mess. "I'm sorry, Billy." "It's all right," I said. "Just grab some paper towels." There was no point in making a big deal. It's not like I was going to ditch Alf and Clark for a bunch of new and more considerate friends. Nine months ago, the three of us arrived in high school and watched our classmates dive into sports or clubs or academics. Yet somehow we just orbited around them, not really fitting in anywhere. I was the tallest boy in ninth grade, but I was not the good kind of tall; I wobbled around school like a baby giraffe, all skinny legs and gangly arms, waiting for the rest of my body to fill in. Alf was shorter, stouter, sweatier, and cursed with the same name of the most popular alien on television--a three-feet-tall puppet with his own NBC sitcom. Their shared resemblance was uncanny. Both Alfs were built like trolls, with big noses, beady eyes, and messy brown hair. Even our teachers joked they were twins. Still, for all of our obvious flaws, Alf and I knew we were better off than Clark. Every morning he rolled out of bed looking like a heartthrob in TigerBeat magazine. He was tall and muscular with wavy blond hair, deep blue eyes, and perfect skin. Girls at the mall would see Clark coming and gape openmouthed like he was River Phoenix or Kiefer Sutherland--until they got close enough to see the Claw, and then they quickly looked away. A freakish birth defect had fused the fingers of Clark's left hand into a pink, crab-like pincer. It was basically useless--he could make it open and close, but it wasn't strong enough to lift anything bigger or heavier than a magazine. Clark swore that as soon as he turned eighteen, he was going to find a doctor to saw it off, even if it cost a million bucks. Until then, he went through life with his head down and the Claw tucked into a pocket, avoiding attention. We knew Clark was doomed to a life of celibacy--that he'd never have a real flesh-and-blood girlfriend--so he needed the Vanna White Playboy more than anyone. "Is she on the centerfold?" he asked. "I don't know," Alf said. "Zelinsky has it on a rack behind the cash register. Next to the cigarettes. I couldn't get anywhere near it." "You didn't buy it?" I asked. Alf snorted. "Sure, I just walked up to Zelinsky and asked for a Playboy. And a six-pack. And a crack pipe, too, because why not? Are you crazy?" We all knew that buying Playboy was out of the question. It was hard enough buying rock music, what with Jerry Falwell warning of satanic influences, and Tipper Gore alerting parents to explicit lyrics. No shopkeeper in America was going to sell Playboy to a fourteen-year-old boy. "Howard Stern says the pictures are incredible," Clark explained. "He said you see both boobs super close-up. Nipples, milk ducks, the works." "Milk ducks?" I asked. "Ducts, with a T," Clark corrected. "The red rings around the nipples," Alf explained. Clark shook his head. "Those are areolas, dummy. The milk duct is the hollow part of the nipple. Where the milk squirts out." "Nipples aren't hollow," Alf said. "Sure they are," Clark said. "That's why they're sensitive." Alf yanked up his T-shirt, exposing his flabby chest and belly. "What about mine? Are my nipples hollow?" Clark shielded his eyes. "Put them away. Please." "I don't have hollow nipples," Alf insisted. They were always vying to prove which one knew more about girls. Alf claimed authority because he had three older sisters. Clark got all of his information from the ABZ of Love, the weird Danish sex manual he'd found buried in his father's underwear drawer. I didn't try to compete with either one of them. All I knew was that I didn't know anything. Eventually seven thirty rolled around and Wheel of Fortune came on. Alf and Clark were still arguing about milk ducts, so I turned the TV volume all the way up. Since we had the house to ourselves, we could be as loud and noisy as we wanted. "Look at this studio, filled with glamorous prizes! Fabulous and exciting merchandise!" Every episode started the same way, with announcer Charlie O'Donnell previewing the night's biggest treasures. "An around-the-world vacation, a magnificent Swiss watch, and a brand-new Jacuzzi hot tub! Over eighty-five thousand dollars in prizes just waiting to be won on Wheel of Fortune!" The camera panned the showroom full of luggage and houseboats and food processors. Showing off the merchandise was the greatest prize of all, Vanna White herself, five foot six, 115 pounds, and draped in a $12,000 chinchilla fur coat. Alf and Clark stopped bickering, and we all leaned closer to the screen. Vanna was, without doubt, the most beautiful woman in America. Sure, you could argue that Michelle Pfeiffer had nicer eyes and Kathleen Turner had better legs and Heather Locklear had the best overall body. But we worshipped at the altar of the Girl Next Door. Vanna White had a purity and innocence that elevated her above the rest. Clark shifted closer to me and tapped my knee with the Claw. "I'm going to Zelinsky's tomorrow," he said. "I want to see this cover for myself." I said, "I'll come with you," but I never took my eyes off the screen. Excerpted from The Impossible Fortress by Jason Rekulak All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Library Journal Review

[DEBUT] In 1987, freshman Billy Marvin is flunking out of high school because when he's not hanging out with his fellow misfits, he is creating computer games on his Commodore 64. But his life changes when a friend reveals his latest get-rich-quick scheme, which involves the new Vanna White issue of Playboy and the color copier at his mom's office. In the process, Billy meets Mary Zelinsky, who is as equally passionate about computers as he is. Fortunately, the scheme provides an excuse for Billy to hang out with Mary and even collaborate on a game for an upcoming contest and a chance to win a brand new IBM PC and the princely sum of $4,000. In navigating new feelings and hidden obstacles in his quest, Billy finds his life growing ever more complicated. Readers who came of age in the 1980s will enjoy the many period references (such as the percussive genius of Phil Collins's solo work), but these do not intrude enough to deter younger readers. Verdict This debut novel by the publisher of Quirk Books feels like a sort of spiritual prequel to Ernest Cline's Ready Player One, with a young protagonist adrift in a sea of pop culture and new technology, trying to figure out his future.-Dan Forrest, Western Kentucky Univ. Libs., Bowling Green © Copyright 2016. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Publishers Weekly Review

Infused with 1980s music, pop culture, and plenty of the BASIC computer programming language, Rekulak's debut offers a charmingly vintage take on geek love, circa 1987 in New Jersey. Fourteen-year-old Billy Marvin's aspiration is to be a premier video game designer. When Billy and his friends' plans to obtain the desirable Vanna White issue of Playboy from a local stationery shop backfire, Billy meets his match in the owner's daughter, Mary, a brilliant computer programmer. She and Billy join forces to improve Billy's flawed game designs in the hopes of winning a contest. Billy's embarrassed to admit his attraction to somewhat chubby Mary, instead allowing his friends to believe he's just using her to get close to Vanna. The interplay between Billy and his loser friends is amusing, and Mary's character-quietly excelling at what's viewed as a boy's pastime-is sympathetically drawn. A late-in-the-game caper to penetrate an Impossible Fortress (Mary's girls-only Catholic school) ups the ante. Rekulak's novel will have readers of a certain age waxing nostalgic about Space Invaders and humming Hall and Oates, but it's still a fun ride that will appeal to all. (Feb.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

School Library Journal Review

It all starts with 14-year-old Billy and his friends scheming to get their hands on the Vanna White edition of Playboy magazine, and, not surprisingly, it all goes downhill from there, as Billy readily admits. It's 1987, when computers are still running BASIC and the Internet as we know it does not exist. But there's sex, drugs, and rock and roll-and computer games. During the boys' first harebrained scheme to acquire the magazine, Billy is intrigued by Mary, a girl he notices programming on one of the display computers in the store. The two strike up a tentative friendship as they rewrite Billy's computer game, the Impossible Fortress, for submission in a gaming contest. By now Billy has completely lost interest in the magazine heist and begins to believe that he might have a chance at winning the contest and the girl. But his buddies get caught up in ever more elaborate and ultimately dangerous scenarios, eventually dragging Billy down with them. Teens will relate to the protagonist and his friends as they stumble their way through the byzantine world of high school, girls, and their own dawning sexuality. Chapter headings include a section of code, which will attract aspiring programmers, and there is a live version of the game available on the author's website. VERDICT Strongly recommended for fans of nerd culture and 1980s throwbacks such as Stranger Things, though Billy's wry narration and the novel's crazy shenanigans may draw in a broader audience of readers looking for irreverent humor.-Gretchen Crowley, formerly at Alexandria City Public Libraries, VA © Copyright 2017. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Booklist Review

*Starred Review* The year is 1987, Billy is happily ignoring his failing grades in favor of teaching himself programming on his home computer, and his buddies have cooked up a money-making scheme selling copies of Vanna White's newly released nudes which they don't yet own. When they throw Billy at Mary Zelinsky, a local shopkeeper's daughter who could help them get the pictures, he discovers that Mary is an ace programmer after his own heart but also way above his skill level. The pace beats steadily along, like Hall & Oates' dreams coming true, as the two race towards a contest deadline for creating a computer game that could break them into the big time. Unfortunately, they each have secrets that threaten their success. The gang can't believe Billy's been seduced by Mary's coding prowess, and the crude rumors about Mary might have a basis in truth. Rekulak layers in nostalgic 80s references, like a mixtape created by Mary's recently deceased mother, an oblique nod to Beetlejuice, and the wacky group of misfit friends with a really good plan. Despite all that, in the end the plot manages to magically subvert the time period while also paying homage to it. An unexpected retro delight.--Howerton, Erin Downey Copyright 2016 Booklist

Kirkus Book Review

In a small town in North Jersey in the late 1980s, a 14-year-old boy and his Commodore 64 find love and trouble.It all starts with the Vanna White issue of Playboy, which in the era of Tipper Gore and Jerry Falwell, "no shopkeeper in America was going to sellto a fourteen-year-old boy." But Billy Marvin and his two best friends, Alf (looks just like the alien Alf on TV) and Clark (incredibly handsome but with a congenitally deformed left hand), sure as hell won't let that stop them. These are boys who have rented Kramer vs. Kramer from the video store more than a dozen times solely to fast-forward to the "fifty-three seconds of jaw-dropping full-frontal nudity" when Dustin Hoffman's hot one-night stand gets out of bed to use the bathroom. (It's the very best PG-13 has to offer.) The only place in town that sells Playboy is Zelinsky's Typewriters and Office Supplies, located in the small, dying downtown. During their first attempt to get the magazinethey dress in suits and try to pass for businessmenBilly meets Mary Zelinsky, a "fat girl" who is as obsessed with computer programming as he is. She is far more advanced. His biggest achievement so far is a game called Strip Poker with Christie Brinkley (Christie is formed from slashes, parentheses, and other symbols) while Mary has digitized the music of Phil Collins. Together, they develop a game called The Impossible Fortress to enter in a contest for young programmers. Working beside Mary is for Billy like "finger painting next to Pablo Picasso." But while he is falling in love, Clark and Alf have developed a much more complicated and dangerous scheme for liberating the Playboy magazines. Unfortunately, the criminal caper and the big reveal that follows it aren't believable. Joyfully evoked with period details and pop-culture references, 1980s nostalgia is the only excuse for marketing this book to adults; otherwise, Rekulak's debut is a middle-grade novel all the way. A good one! Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.