Chris's house was a coffin. A trailer routed in the ground with lattice gilding and a young cherry tree in the front yard. Tall grass infiltrated the yard along with weeds and garbage blown in by the wind. In the overgrown driveway, two cars sat. Only one worked, the Cadillac. The other car, a brown, rusty husk with an engine older than the house, sat one three flat tired. One miraculously held its air, like it was the last leg to go un-kicked.

Inside, the shag carpet came up in clumps, with patches of pop stains that created sticky tangles in the weaves. The faux-wood paneling was cracked from the hot summers and cold winters. In the bathroom you'd find mold and a spider web under the sink. Chris's room was tucked in the back, beyond the kitchen/living room and down a tight corridor. His room had a bathroom but only a half wall separated it from his room and the sliding-glass, closet doors on the adjacent wall made privacy impossible.

On the off weekend where Cameron would stay at Chris's house instead of the other way around, they'd set up Cameron's TV in one corner and move Chris's to the other corner so they could sit back to back, in-table between them for their pops and chips, speakers on blast with the latest Linkin Park album or some Red Hot Chili Peppers, while they played match after match of Halo 2 in grade school, or Halo 3 in junior high. When midnight rolled around they'd put it on pause, put on their sneakers and walk the four blocks to the twenty-four-hour gas station. If it was raining they'd snag the keys to Chris's father's car and drive careful down the back alleys with the lights off, snickering as they ran over the neighbor's garbage can. When they got back to the house it'd continue through till Saturday morning where they'd catch an hour or two of sleep before being woken up by Chris's Mom with Burger King breakfast and then they'd be right back at it.

Toronto, Chris's monster of a dog, greeted Cam as he walked up, hands full. Chris was outside filling the water bowl with a big steel bucket.

"Hey, hey," Chis said. "What's up, man? What's, uh, going on?"

"I gotta crash with you tonight."

"Oh—

"And maybe the next night too."

"Well I—

"It might be a while if I'm being honest with you, Chris."

"A while?"

"I'm talking a week, two months tops."

"Oh,"

"It's just," Cam said, handing the TV to Chris. "That fuckin' Ralph guy is staying with my mom for now."

"Oh, he's finally moving in?"

"No, Chris. He's not fucking moving in. He's just…crashing on the couch for a few days. Like I said, maybe a week or whatever."

"Oh, so they're not like, you know, doin' it anymore?"

"Ew, Chris. What the fuck? And, I don't know. Maybe. I don't like, listen in or anything."

"So he's not staying in her room then?"

"Well he is."

"Right, so he's moving in."

"No," Cam said. "He's not moving in. He's just crashing, like I said."

"Sure, okay. But listen man, I don't know if my mom's gonna be cool—

"Let me talk to your mom," Cam said. "Trust me. You just gotta back me up okay?"

"I don't know…"

"I can't stay there, man. You know what it's like. I just can't do it."

"Yeah, I knoa—

"You really gonna make me stay there with Ralph and them?"

"I don't know, man."

"Come on," Cameron said. "It'll be awesome. We can practice and play some fuckin' Halo even—

"Did you apologize?"
"Huh?"
"Apologize. Did you apologize yet?"

"What? No, man. I was busy dealing with this shit. I was gonna do it right after."

"Now."

"What?"

"Do it now. If you do it now then you can stay here."

"You want me to what? Call her?"
"Well, no. You can just text."
"Text? What am I, Chris? I was going to go to her house after all this. That's the only way to apologize properly."

"I don't know."

"Come on, trust me, man. Just let me put my shit inside, I'll go talk to her, come back, talk to your mom, get her on my side, and we'll all be crystal clear by five for practice. Whadaya say?"

They sat still on the porch before Cameron nodded his head. "Sure, alright. But you're going to her house right after."

"Of course I am."

On the other side of town, where the houses stood at least three stories tall, the yards stayed cut, hedges trimmed, trees pruned, cars washed, and all the children stayed inside, an Indian family dwelled in the whitest and tallest of all the houses, with the cleanest car and the nicest yard. A house built on a gambling career that sparked a business which led to simple wealth, more than enough to be spoiled in a small town.

Up on the top floor, in the biggest room, flanked by pink curtains and bedroom fluffing, sitting at a computer built to be kept up to date with the latest video card, pumped full of ram and glowing a low, pulsing pink, Maya twitched away at Overwatch. Anna kept support from the back, firing from the hip, keeping her Reinhardt alive. Her headphones were snug on her tiny head, microphone down while she cursed in Tamil at the idiot playing Tracer who kept rewinding away from her.

She was built to be a ballerina, with spider limbs, and a long torso, and skin like mocha that stayed consistent across her. Her eyes were like a cartoon character, a tight, button nose squished between them. When she pushed the mouse forward, the sleeve of her flannel, button-up slid up to reveal a tiny bunny tattoo, her own little rebellion forged permanent on her skin.

The house was quiet. Nobody home. Two koi fish swam in a big tank in the main hall.

Cam rang the doorbell and waited, gazing at the flamingos sticking in the yard. Moody clouds clung overhead. Thunder rumbled somewhere. In his mind he thought of the ways the conversation could go, how he could make it sound. The possibility of it ending in a confession of love or a murder both weighed equal in his mind, rumbling like the distant thunder.

"Yeah, coming," Maya said. She opened the door, looked Cam up and down and said, "Oh."

"Hi, uh," Cam said.

"What do you want?"

"Yeah, yeah." He rubbed the back of his head. "I might have said some hurtful things yesterday—

"You called me a dirty bitch, Cameron."

"I…don't recall using those words."

"Well, you did. You said, 'we lost that match because of you, you dirty bitch.' I remember."

"Yeah—

"And that's not all, Cameron. You've said mean things to me before. Stupid Indian. Lazy, retarded."

"I, uh—

"Frankly, I think we're all a little sick of your mouth."

"Woah, woah, listen—

"I want an apology, Cam."

"That's what I'm try—

"And I don't want to play Mercy anymore."

"Listen—

"I'm tired of support. I wanna be on the front lines."

"We can—

"I'm just as good as Chris or Remy. Maybe not Christie, but whatever, I'm still good, Cam."

"Okay!" Maya looked up, noticing Cameron. "Jesus, let me fucking talk, okay?" She nodded, folding her arms, hips swayed. "I came here to say that I was…wait…did you say 'we'?"

"Huh?"

"Just a second ago. 'We're all sick of you'?"

"Yeah, you say some really terrible—

"You've been talking about me behind my back?"

"What?"

"You've been complaining about me, behind my back, to everyone else, and now you're mad at me for saying things to your face?"

"You called me a bitch, Cam."

"You are a bitch. You complain all the fucking time. You never shut your mouth."

"Yeah, well, you're an asshole and everyone says so. Not just me. Chris. Remy. Everyone. They all say so. You're just an asshole and no one likes you."

"Oh yeah? Well at least I'm good at the fucking game. You suck. The only reason you're on the team is because we needed support and you can't even do that right. You don't know the maps. You don't know the characters. You don't play well. You don't listen. You nag and complain. You clog up voice chat. You stress everyone out with your constant threats of quitting the team. And you know what? I don't say it because I would never talk about you behind your back like a little bitch, but everyone else says that they hope you do quit. I always stand up for you. I say 'no way guy, she's great, we need her,' but that shit's done. It's over, Maya. No, shut up. You don't talk anymore. This is my team. Not yours. You do what I say. I came all the way over here to apologize, but no. Fuck you. Fuck you and your stupid fucking shit. You're off the team."

"I'm off the team?"

"You're off the fucking team."

"I was gonna quit, asshole!"

"Well not anymore!" Cameron turned and walked fast through the yard.

"Fuck you, Cameron. And hey! Use the fucking sidewalk, asshole!"

"Fuck off."

"Asshole!"

Cam's feet pounded the pavement as the bright red door slammed shut behind him. Puffs of breath came out through snarled lips, face red, head pounding. Each stride laced with fury. He rounded the hedge row and went onto the street, splashing through a puddle by the runoff drain. Curses slipped out of his mouth and venom spilled into his brain, poisoning his thoughts and digging up muddy moments that helped confirm his stance in his mind. He remembered the worst of Maya: the bitching, the nagging at him to put her on flag duty in Halo 3, the uncomfortable time she made out with her boyfriend on the mic while they practiced, thinking she had muted it, and the time she refused to play for the Gamebattles match because she didn't like the way her hair hung over her forehead. They spiraled around him on repeat, the little clips of her voice smacking his emotions around.

But the feeling was fleeting. With each step the anger diminished and a doubt fell over him, like a ghost, haunting him with the things he had said to her. Feet on the damp road, crossing the streets back into the flat part of town. He stopped at the park and sat on a wet bench, looking over at a group of kids who sat on swings, not moving, just looking at their phones, occasionally sharing words.

Now we only have four, he thought. Christy, Remy, Chris, and Me. The Overwatch bracket required six. Second ticked the time to four o'clock. In an hour he'd have to meet with the rest of the team, sitting in their booth at the local burger joint, and tell them that they didn't have enough time to find one person, let alone two. The pep-talk that he'd been building all day slipped into the trash bin and was forgotten. He felt the rain cloud above his head.

"Yo, Cam. Hey." Cam looked up. "Hey, I thought that was you. What's up? What're you doing out here? It's supposed to rain again, you know."

"Hey," Cam said. He stood and sauntered to the window. Christy drove the rock-star, beater that picked Remy up from school. She was a beautiful girl, the kind that lived next door and dated guys that could beat her up, but she had the brain and a mouth that kept them in line, most of the time. A tight bun kept her blonde hair held up above her head, and her bare shoulders were pecked with freckles. She looked sweaty.

"What're you fuckin' doin' out here? Need a ride?"

"Sure," Cam said. He got in.

"Where to, bud?" The car bumped down the road. "You guys still meeting today?"

"Yeah," he said. "Not for another hour though."

"We can just drive then, if you don't got nowhere to be."

"Sure." She took the car onto a country road out of town, the kind that wrapped and twisted through the woods, passed the farmers and hillbillies that tucked themselves away from everyone else. The roads were shit and the car shuttered it's one million pieces with every bump, but Christy took the turns too fast and never used the gas. She knew how to have fun in the midst of nothing.

"So what's wrong? And don't give me none of that shit. Just fuckin' skip that and get to the telling me part."

"It's just Maya."

"Oh? I heard she was upset about some things that were said."

"Yeah," Cam said. "I called her on her shit and, yeah, maybe used some harsh words, but come on. I've said a lot worse to people in her defense."

"That's true."

"And, so, get this, I went to apologize today and she started talking mad shit to me. Saying that everyone talks behind my back and hates me and shit, so I just laid into her."

"Damn, Cam," Christy laughed. "Sure that's what you should of done?"

"No," Cam said. "But it felt good."

"Really?"

"For a second. Then it felt like shit. I don't know." Trees blurred past the window. "I didn't think about the team. We were only down one person. But now we're down two. I should've thought about that before…yeah, I should have just thought about the team first. Not my, whatever that was."

"I'm sure the team'll understand when you tell them, Cam." Christy put her hand on his shoulder, and no matter how close they were, no matter how long they knew each other, he still blushed. "I'm sorry to have made it even harder on you guys."

"What? No, you haven't done anything."

"Yeah I have. Now you've got to find two people."

"Uh, yeah," Cam said. "We had an empty slot. Then Maya quit. That's two."

"Oh," she said.

"What?"

"Remy didn't tell you, did she?" Christy gripped the wheel with both hands and looked forward. "Fuck. Fuck, Cam. I'm sorry. This is a shit way to tell you. I wanted her to tell you cause she's better at this shit than I am. Please, understand that."

"Just tell me what's going on."

"I'm moving, Cam."

"What? Why?"

"Cam—

"Don't fuckin' scare me like that."

"Cam—

"We can still play with you."

"Cameron, you're—

"We'll just skype you into the meetings, Christy. It's no big deal."

"Cameron!" The car jerked as she hit the brakes. "Listen to me, god damn it. Look at me. Look at me. I'm moving away. Very far away. I won't have internet. I won't have anything."

"Wha…are you like going off the fucking grid or something? You gonna be with Bear fucking Grylls?"

"Japan." She said. "I'm going to Japan. I'm going to be working with a group. A relief group. Sort of like Peace Corp. I'm going to be there for a while. Months. I won't be able to play for months. Not online. Cam, I'm sorry. I really didn't want to be the one to tell you."

"Just…just take me to 'Steak 'n' Shake'." His fingers squeezed the door handle tight.

"Cam…"

"Just take me there." His voice rattled the car, like a bump in the road. "Please."

She stared the car on its way, keeping quiet.

Sweat creased Cam's hairline. The leather of the door creaked under his grip. His jaw tightened as he ground down on his teeth. Against his anger, he felt his eyes water so he closed them. He rolled the window down to feel the thick, autumn air smash against his face. And like the wind passing by them at high speeds, his dreams of going pro slipped out the window.