In a dusty hotel room, somewhere on a high floor (those were the expensive ones), Lindsay's mom was texting. She was always texting. Her fingers blazed the touchscreen of her tiny phone. She kept it silent, thank God, and never looked up from it. Lindsay used to wonder what it was her mother was doing on that phone all the time. Maybe she's just trying to help me, she thought. Or trying to score drugs. Either way, it left too much up to her imagination, and mother always said that too much thinking can ruin a winner's mind.
So one night, after helping her mother into a bottle of expensive wine, Lindsay swiped the phone and held onto it for the night. At first there was nary a sign of a message. Just complete silence. But in the morning, the earthquake level of vibrations shook Lindsay out of her sleep. The screen showed seventy text messages (some duplicates, some from the same person) and over fifty emails from various places. MLG, Blizzard, a designer on League of Legends, people whose addresses were in the 90210, where reality was staged and television was a way of life.
From that moment on she stayed out of the phone's way, and out of her mom's way while she was on it. It was like watching an Olympic balance-board gymnast, forever standing one foot on the beam, almost losing balance but never falling A marvel of respect and fear.
In that hotel room, five o'clock at night, her mother had told her to not bother her. That rarely happened. Lindsay assumed that at least double the usual messages were coming in. And she couldn't help but feel wholly responsible. In a simple conversation her entire prerogative changed. No more computer, no more League of Legends. Both had been tossed out. They were distractions, remnants of a dead era. Her mother made a call and a PS4 was brought to the room by a weird Italian man who stared at Lindsay's chest too much and had a crook in his step. They picked up a copy of Overwatch on the way home.
"Lindsay," her mother said. "My guy says this is going to be big." She always said that. Her 'guy' was always giving her the scoop, and he was only wrong half the time. He was right about LoL, but he was wrong about Halo 4, which was an entire summer of her life she could never get back again. He was right about Turtle Beach, but wrong about VR. He still swears it'll be big, but not now. "Soon, soon, I promise."
Lindsay had been ready to give up. They'd been to twenty states in two weeks, looking at teams, talking to teams, meeting coaches, ex-players, anyone. Her mother had done the talking for most of them, while Lindsay waited in the car. She could tell by the way her mother exited the building if the meeting had gone well. All of them had ended badly.
Things were looking bleakest in the parking lot of the burger place. And things looked even worse through tear stained eyes as she told her mother what a waste of time it had been. "Lindsay," she said. "My guy says this is going to be big." And from there on Lindsay knew her life was turning. Not around, not into a better direction, but it was turning. There could be ruin down the road. A move back to Chicago's South Side, menial day labor for her mother, and public school for Lindsay.
Or it would end up like her mother always said. "You buy me a condo in Florida and we never look back." Lindsay didn't even like Florida but she liked the smile on her mother's face when she talked about it. There was nothing behind it. Nothing in front of it. Just a smile.
Overwatch it was.
Lindsay studied footage, anything she could find on Youtube, and there wasn't much. Twitch had a few professional streamers. One guy, AdmiralDarkAstericks, was a former LoL player. He'd beaten Lindsay's team a year back at an invitational in Seattle. She felt better seeing that he too was switching to Overwatch.
Using a console was the biggest issue. PCs were just better. There was no discussion to be had. Better graphics, better control, better hardware. Console gaming was for idiots who didn't know how to sit properly at a desk. Cavemen, she called them. Cavemen played Halo, humans played CS:GO. But her mother said, like she always said, "my guy says this'll be big." She still wondered, as she looked at the stupid PS4 controller, if she could convince this team to switch to PC.
There were twenty hours from the moment she sat down with the game to the time when she was supposed to try out. It was a moment of time to her, not long enough to master even one character from the game's list. Sitting in front of the television her mother had brought up, she felt deadlocked. Spinnereting spider thoughts weaved webs through her brain, sewing self-doubt through the fibers of her being. Suddenly she wasn't good at any games. She wasn't fit to hold a controller. PC's were weak and she had been a fool her entire life. She wasn't Lindsay anymore, she was the stupid, bitch step-sister who had fucked up everything and dragged her mother around the country to end three hours from home in a hotel about to play a game that looked like it was for children so she could try out for a bunch of high schoolers for a teams that probably didn't even exist so that she could maybe play in a tournament for a game that might not be on the circuit in a year.
She couldn't breathe.
The collar of her shirt strangled her and no matter how hard she tugged on it, it constricted. Her life was moving like a play recap in her mind. Except the plays were all bad and the commentators liked to laugh a mock the losers. It was a fail's of the week, and Geoff from Achievement Hunter was laughing at her as she lost her first match of Starcraft. It was an all-encompassing, existential dread that veiled around her and assaulted her with loss after loss after loss after…
Then the microwave dinged.
Dinner was ready. She got up, not thinking, unwrapped the leftover McDonald's cheeseburger, and took a bite. She let the chewing be loud in her mind. In the corner, her mother had her knees tucked up to her chest, phone reflecting blue on her face, fingers faster than ever. She was smiling, Lindsay thought. She couldn't be sure, but with the chewing in her ears, the first taste of food for the day hitting her tongue, she believed it could be a smile.
Vincent and Christy pulled away from each other, her a giggling mess and him out of breath. They sat still for a moment before he got up and went to the bathroom to pee. The used condom was tossed into the wastebasket and he looked at himself in the mirror. Christy opened her bedroom window and placed a box fan facing out. "For the smell," she said. "Last thing I want is my mom to help me move in the smell of sex."
"You gonna want me to come visit you?"
"Hell no," she said. "I'll have several boyfriends by next weekend."
"Oh yeah?"
"You'll be obsolete."
"Mhm," she came back into the room. "Where's my boxers?"
"Check the sheets."
"I think you'll be begging me to come by, babe."
"You wish." She went into the bathroom as he slipped his boxers back on, laying back on the bed. "Do you gotta be somewhere?"
"Huh?"
"Like, do you have somewhere to go?" She peaked out of the bathroom, hands putting her hair up.
"You trying to kick me out, babe?"
"What if I am, sweetie?" Back into the bathroom with a smile.
"Yeah, I got shit to do. Don't gotta worry about me bein' all lonely."
"I just know you miss me all the time." Back in the bedroom she slipped a big shirt on. "But no, really, I just promised some people I'd do something with them. I'm late already."
"I'm sure they'll forgive you."
"I don't know," she said. "I'm kinda leavin' them in a tough spot anyways."
"You got another guy, babe?"
"Oh yeah. You know, that big football player. He's black. He loves to go down on me."
"I heard he's gay."
"Funny," she said. "I hear that about you all the time."
"Ha, ha. For real though, what's going on?"
"Oh, Vin, really, it's nothing. Nothing serious anyways. Just my sister and her friends."
"Aren't they freshman?"
"Sophomores now."
"Right."
"We just like, we have this team you could say."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," she said, slipping her underwear back on and finding a pair of shorts. "And I'm leaving them without a full team now."
"Sounds devastating."
"It kinda is. I'll miss playing with them."
"What do ya play?"
"Overwatch now."
"No shit?"
"You know it?"
"Who the fuck doesn't? My boys and I play it like all the time. We're nuts about it." She sat opposite of him on the bed and put her socks on. "How come you never talked about it before? We coulda played together."
"You would've rather have played that than play with me?"
"We coulda done both."
"Barely have time for this."
"That's why we do it at the same time. Double the fun."
"Maybe you can try that on the next girl."
"She won't be as good as you," he said.
"That's sweet."
"Hey," he said. "I mean it." He grabbed her hand. She stopped and looked at him. "This has been a cool summer."
"Don't you mean…hot…summer?"
"I hate you so much."
They kissed and she pulled back. "I really gotta kick you out."
"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Tell your sister's friends to hit me up if they wanna play."
"You wouldn't want to play with them. Trust me."
"Hey, if you like them they can't be that bad."
"They're sophomores, Vincent."
"I'm just sayin'."
"That's very sweet of you." She stood, buttoning her shorts. "Now skootch. Out, out."
Vincent stood and grabbed his shirt from the floor and his jeans. Christy pushed him out of the room and into the hall. He stood half naked on the hardwood floor. A door closed next to him. Standing there, in shorts and a tank top, was Remy. Vincent looked her up and down. "Hello," he said.
"Hi, Vincent."
"Oh, so you do know me."
"Well, yeah."
"You just never talk to me when I'm here."
"I hear enough about you from Christy."
"All bad things, I hope."
"Yeah," she said. She looked down at her feet. Her cheeks were a hue of red.
"She just kicked me out cause you guys are about to game."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." He looked at her face and she looked up, meeting his eyes before turning away quickly. "You guys play Overwatch."
"Yeah."
"I fuckin' love that game. Reindhardt's my shit. So's Junkrat."
"Oh?"
"Yeah." He stepped closer to her, edging past her down the hall. "I should probably go now."
"Your pants."
"Huh?"
"Your pants. You should put them on first."
"Oh shit. Forgot." He dropped his shirt and put his jeans on right there.
"There's a bathroom right there."
"This bother you?" He let his jeans hang on his hips unbuttoned. Remy's eyes went from his crotch up to his flat stomach.
"Yes," she whispered.
Remy's bedroom door opened. "Remy! Oh, shit, didn't…see…you…" Cameron slumped out of the doorway, looking from Remy to Vincent, then back to Remy. She looked away, covering her face slightly. "Chris said he was thirsty. Did you want to walk with us to the store?"
"Christy should be ready now."
"Yeah, champ," Vincent said. "She's all yours now."
"Don't fuckin' call me champ."
"Woah," Vincent said. "Bit of a tight wad."
"Woah there," Cameron said. "Kind of a douche bag."
"Cameron," Remy said.
"I should go," he said. Cameron and him locked eyes. "Have fun with your game."
"Bye," Cameron said. Vincent gave Remy another look over and headed down the stairs. "The fuck were you doing talking to that guy?"
"I ran into him in the hall, Cam. Why were you such a douche to him?"
"Me? He called me champ. What is he, my fuckin' step dad?"
"It's just a word, Cam."
"Yeah, a word a douche bag says to make someone seem small."
"Whatever."
"You going to the store with us or not?"
"I don't feel like it."
"Whatever."
"What's going on?"
"Shut up, Chris. Let's go."
"Remy coming?"
"I don't feel like it, Chris."
"Sorry," he said.
They walked down the stairs and Remy stood in the hall for a moment longer, feeling hot inside her chest.
