A black and white diner sat on the busiest intersection in town, with monochrome curtains, and monochrome style. Its four walls could seat fifty monochrome people, with their plastic menus, and their two-dollar burgers. The booths of monochrome leather were torn and rickety. The chair and their monochrome cushions were older than the manager behind the counters, who walked from table to table in his monochrome uniform with his name tag that said, "hello, welcome to Steak 'n' Shake".

In the back booth, Cameron had his hands on a fat-stacked burger, slick with grease and gleaming with several slices of cheese. Ketchup dripped down his chin and popped out the backside as he took a bite. He chewed too few times and gulped down a swig of cola before digging into the onion rings. He was eating depressed, using it to feel good, which made him feel like shit, which made him order a milkshake. Double chocolate fudge.

The clock was ticking closer to five and Cameron didn't want to face the group. There were too many things to say and none of them were good. It would be a defeat. The third of the day. Three strikes you're out. He saw no use in putting everyone through that when it would be much easier to pay his bill, walk to Chris's house, and just play Overwatch. When Chris got home, caked in his dopey form of anger, Cam would just feign ignorance. "Oh, there was a meeting today? Didn't know." After that, the team could just slip into obscurity and become one of those things that high schoolers get nostalgic over while they drink their first Jaeger Bomb.

Another bite of the burger. A big gulp of coke.

The waitress came by and set down the shake. She eyed Cameron, up and down. Eyes that took in his face, abused by acne, and concluded that he was dirty. He knew he cleaned his face and that sometimes skin is just not very cooperative. That's what his dermatologist said and she knew better than some flunky waitress with stripper hair.

"The fuck are you lookin' at?" He said.

She pulled back, as if slapped. Her face flushed with embarrassment. "Wha? Huh?"

"I said, what the fuck, are you looking at?"

"Rude." She hurried away.

"Yeah well, I need another coke." He yelled after her. The couple in the booth next to him looked over with that "did he just say that?" expression. He chewed his bite, holding his coke up for a drink, and opened his mouth to the couple. They turned back to their meal. Back behind the counter, the waitress was talking to her other idiot friends. They took turns looking over their shoulder at Cam, trying to hide it. He just kept staring at them until after the third attempt they pulled themselves further into the back, hiding from him entirely.

Another bite of burger. Big gulp of coke. Both were finished and he wiped his lips with the one napkin she had left for him. Like some kind of fuckin' joke. One napkin for a grease ball between buttery buns. The onion rings got dipped into a mound of ketchup and stuffed into his mouth. All the more food he took in, the less the day's events weighed on his mind. It was a trick his mom had taught him. When he used to miss his dad she'd drive him to burger king for chicken nuggets and a Pokémon toy. "All better," she'd say.

The waitress strolled up with the coke he asked for, fake smile on her face. She put it on the table and stood there for a beat.

"You spit in this?"

"What?" Her face turned away to the back. "No."

"Whatever," he said. Looking up at her, meeting eyes as she turned back to face him, he chugged the majority of the glass. She looked at the floor before he was finished and walked away as he set the glass down. "Great coke!" She disappeared into the back. "And I need more napkins!"

He leaned back in the booth and stared at the black and white ceiling. Even the stains were black and white. Shades of boring grey. The bell for the door dinged and Cam looked down into a blazing field of red. Red Chuck Taylors, like blood wrapped around his feet. A red, leather jacket wrapped tight around his childish body. Red Raybands squeezing his nose. And red corduroy pants, the kind that hugged the skin and made skinny legs look long and tight. Cameron wondered if behind the sunglasses, there were red eyes scanning the room for the next kill.

Cameron shoved another union ring down without looking, getting ketchup on his cheek. Still no extra napkins. The red creature at the door looked around the tops of booths, passing over the couple, over Cameron, to the corner of the room, then back to Cameron. He smiled with feminine lips and white teeth, waved his girly hand and walked, long leg over another, hips swaying, to Cam's booth.

The booth made no sound at the addition of his weight.

"Cameron? Cameron Jones?" His voice was like a girl's. "I'm Lindsay." No, not like a girl's.

Lindsay removed the Raybands and tucked them into a jacket pocket. Hazel eyes with long lashes and hints of mascara around the ends to point them. He was a she. It was a girl.

"I was told that you had a team," she said. "I played semi-professionally in Dallas a few years ago. Gamertag is little x, big x, super fly, super with an 'a-h', big x, little x. My team was sponsored by my city of Atlas Colorado, Dad's Rootbeer, of which I have a lifetime supply, and even Raybands at one point, of which I also have a lifetime supply. Here, have a pair." She reached into her pocket and gave him a yellow pair of 'bands. "I'd like to join your team because it seems like a good team. I watched your tapes and think I would fit well. I think I deserve to be a part of the teams because I'm a great team player, I'm responsive, a fast learner. My biggest weakness is that I work too hard at things sometimes and can get extremely competitive. Other than that, I don't expect a salary as I understand tournament winnings only come to winning teams. But I believe with me, your team could win tournaments, sir."

The booth was silent. The couple next to Cam got up and paid their ticket at the front. The waitress brought a stack of napkins. Another joke. No one could use that many napkins.

"That is all," Lindsay said. Cameron looked into her eyes. They were big and beautiful and filled with an innocence that was palpable. She couldn't be much older than eleven. Twelve tops. "Do you have any questions for me, sir?"

"Da…yeah." Cam pushed his thumbs against his eyes. "What the fuck is this? Some kind of joke? Did Chris put you up to this?"

"What? No, not at all, sir. Gosh, I'm so sorry. My mom's out there." She pointed to a red corvette in the parking lot. A lean, mean woman sat in the driver's seat, texting. "Chris told me that you'd be here early probably and I wanted to do this. Mom always says in person meetings are better than online meetings. I just…gosh, I'm so sorry."

"No, no, stop, stop. I'm…I'm just extremely confused. Chris did tell you to come here?"

"Yes," she said. She eyed and union ring. "We have physics together."

"You go the high school?"

"Just for physics."

"Just for physics?"

"It's a college thing."

"You go to college?"

"No, no, gosh. No." She looked at the union ring again.

"Help yourself." He pushed the plate between them.

"I really shouldn't." She looked out at the red corvette.

"Please?" Cam pushed it closer. "And tell me everything."

She ate an onion ring. "I don't live here. I live in Chicago upstate."

"That's a three hour drive."

"Yup."

"Why'd you come down here? How do you have a class with Chris?"

"Chris is a buddy of mine in our online Physics class. It's for college prep. It takes in students from all over Illinois."

"And he told you to come here?"

"Well…kinda." She ate another union ring.

"Kinda?"

"He mentioned that you had an opening on your team and needed players. He said you met every Friday at the same burger place in town."

"So how'd you find this place?"

"It's the only burger place in town."

"And he told you who I was?"

"Yes."

"How'd you recognize me?"

"Facebook."

"What the hell?"

"Isn't it normal for employees to do research on possible employers?"

"I don't know. Is it? It feels weird."

"Oh," she said. "Sorry."

Cameron sighed. "No, no. It's fine. This is very fucked up. Chicago?"

"Yes."

"You said something about Colorado."

"That's where I was on a semi-professional team."

"So you moved to Chicago?"

"No. I've always lived in Chicago."

"Then—

"Mother travels." Cameron followed her gaze out to the red corvette.

"Right." Cam took an union ring. "And you want to be on our team now?"

"I'd like to apply or try out if I could, if you still have the availability, I mean."

"I'm a sophomore in high school," Cameron said.

"I know."

"Creepy," Cam said. "You said something about tapes?"

"Oh, yes."

"We don't have any tapes. We've never played in a tournament before. Did Chris lie to you about something? Listen, if he did, I'm sorry. I can't do much—

"He didn't lie I lied." She grabbed another onion ring and wolfed it down. "I lied about that. Mom says it's important to act like you know things that you don't when applying. I'm sorry. I've never seen you play."

"We're not professional."

"But Chris said you guys were trying this competitive season if you could fill all your slots."

"That's…god damn it Chris. That's fuckin' true, but we've never played like that before. You drove all the way from Chicago."

"You keep saying that."

"It really bothers me."

"I can tell."

"Is your mom okay with that?"

"She encourages it."

"What?"

"Listen, Mr. Jones, sir. I am a good Legends player. I'm one of the best. I can go pro and I'm looking for a team that can do it for me. Other teams have not had the rigidity or structure or drive to do it, but the way Chris talked about this team it gave me hope, so my mother drove me here to see if this was worth pursuing. Now tell me, Mr. Jones, sir, was it a waste of my time or have I found a team?"

"Uh, did you say…Legends?"

"Yes."
"Like League of Legends?"

"Yes."

Cameron chuckled, a kind of nervous laughter. The kind of laughter that comes from being hit one too many time.

"I don't understand what's so funny."

"We don't play League of Legends," Cameron choked out. His laughter was out of control now. Lindsay's cheeks were filling with red, her eyes went down under the table. "We play Overwatch."

"Oh my god," she said. She stood up and then sat back down. Cameron was trying to stop his laughter but he couldn't. It came out in huge bursts. "Oh gosh. I'm so stupid. Stupid, stupid. Darn it. Darn it. Stupid, stupid, stupid." She hit herself on the forehead with each utterance of "stupid". It pulled Cameron from his lapse of sanity and he watched her as she stood up. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Jones. It seems it was I who wasted your time." He was silent as she walked, nearly ran, out the door. She ran around the side of the building to the red corvette and climbed in the passenger seat. Cam could see that she was crying. Her mother was still texting. They were sharing words while Lindsay continued to sob, hugging her arms in close, looking down at her own feet. Her mother never looked at her, but her lips were moving fast and her neck was flexed like she was yelling. Something in Cameron's gut made him feel bad, like a bad person, like she was a hurt person, like she had come to him and was asking for help and he had just been bad, he had done wrong, something evil.

Without looking at her daughter, the mother held out a handkerchief and Lindsay took it, blew her nose into it and wiped her tears with the edges. They were done talking and Lindsay got out of the car and pulled out a little pocket mirror and fixed her eyes there in the parking lot, then she hurried back to the door, composed herself, pulled her clothes more comfortable, and calmly walked back into the building. She smiled at Cameron, waved, and came to the booth, sitting down.

"I've discussed it with my manager, my mother, and she and I both think that a change of pace could be beneficial."

"Listen, I really don't want to waste your time. And, shut up, I'm talking now, and you have not, listen to me, you have not wasted my time. I promise. But we're just a bunch of high schoolers who are trying to go pro. We don't have a manager, never had sponsors, never competed before. You seem really serious and that's great, but I don't want you to waste your time and money for something that won't go anywhere."

"You don't want to go pro?"

"No, I do," he said. "I really fuckin' do. More than anything."

"That's how I feel, Mr. Jones. I have wanted this since forever and I will do anything to get it."

"I…I feel the same, Lindsay. I really fuckin' do. I've wanted it for so long. But…"

"But nothing then, sir." Lindsay's face was stern, giving it a hue of wisdom, like her soul was beyond her years. "If you want it then that's all I need." She smiled. "That and a championship."

"I—listen. How long are you going to be in town?"

"Until we win."

"Damn," Cameron said. "Good line. So you'll be here tomorrow? Alright. Go with your mom and come by this address, no, wait, just give me your number. I'll text the address to you. We'll do a little meeting with everyone. We'll have you play—

"Try out."

"Yes, try out. We'll have you try out. We'll talk, we'll see what's happening. Then we can…I don't know. Make a deal? Is that what people say?"
"Sure."

"Alright. I'll text you after this meeting with the rest of the group."

"Awesome! Thank you, Mr. Jones. I promise I won't disappoint."

"Overwatch," Cameron said. Lindsay hopped up and was already at the door. She turned back. "Remember, we're playing Overwatch." She nodded and went out the little, red corvette. Her mother didn't look at her as she drove away.