Lincoln was a straight up failure.
Eleven and scrawny with slicked back hair, he fronted like he was confident, but deep down, in his heart of heart of hearts, he carried a tiny flicker of self-doubt that sometimes ignited into a raging inferno. He was quick-witted, conniving, and could talk a priest into sin, but that's pretty much where his ability ended. He was physically weak, painfully thin, a giant geekasaurus, and kind of klutzy. He couldn't play sports, he couldn't fix things, he could barely spell, he...he was a loser, okay? He had never won anything in his life (except for the contempt of his peers) and that was a bitter pill to swallow, but what choice did he have?
It wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't live across the street from the frickin' House of Talent. Three stories with a slate roof, dormers, and a big oak tree in the front yard, 1216 Franklin Avenue was home to a star athelete, a super genius super toddler, a charming and stunningly beautiful comedian (whom Lincoln had a crush on), a budding fashion designer, Miss Fix-It herself, a beauty queen, the next Stephen King, a gifted musician, and a bunch of other people who didn't suck.
Sometimes, he sat in his bedroom window and watched the place with a pair of binoculars hoping to catch a glimpse of Luan (please don't tell anyone, they'd think he was a creeper!), and without fail, he caught the Loud girls carrying armloads of trophies inside instead. Plaques, certificates, degrees, a Jr. Nobel Prize, man, the works.
You know that episode of Spongebob where SB keeps getting trophies and Patrick gets salty about it because he doesn't have any?
Yeah.
Too close to home.
Then you had Johnny. Oh, and Mom. She was so good at gardening that she won accolades from the Home Owners' Association every year and got her picture in the paper. Last year, Dad won a trip to attend an AEW Dynamite show and got to meet Jim Ross, his favorite announcer. The only "award" he had was a framed photo of him shaking Jim Ross's hand and wearing his cowboy hat. It sat in a place of honor on the mantle like a holy relic, and every time Lincoln saw it, he glowered. Even Dad has a trophy. Ugh.
Before long, Lincoln's feelings of inadequacy started getting to him, and he got desperate.
Enter the Fifth Grade Video Contest.
Mrs. Johnson announced it on a Friday in May. Each student would make a video and post it online. The one with the most votes after a week would win a sick trophy shaped like an old school movie camera and some film.
It was beautiful, and Lincoln decided that he wanted it.
That Saturday, he made a video of himself sliding down the stairs in a plastic tote (dressed in goggles and a scarf like a WWI ace). It hit the bottom, tipped, and threw him into the wall, crash test dummy style. It wasn't the greatest or most original stunt, but it was funny, especially since he did his best Josh from Drake and Josh and cred, "I'm comin', Oprah!" on the way down. The best part was how he crashed head first into the wall. Johnny, who shot it, fell out laughing, and when he watched it, Lincoln almost peed himself. This was comedy gold! He'd win that trophy for sure!
Only it didn't go down like that.
He posted the video Saturday afternoon, giddy as a kid on Christmas, and sat before the computer screen for three hours, on the edge of his seat, waiting for dem likes to come in.
They did not.
No one liked it. He honestly couldn't understand why. He smashed his head against a wall while screaming about Oprah, people should be lapping this up.
He decided to check out the competition, and that's when he found out where all those likes were going.
Hampsta-Cam, a 24 hour live feed of a hamster in its cage.
Seriously, he was getting his butt kicked by a rodent.
It wasn't even interesting! Look, Mr. Fluffums was cute and all, but that can only get you so far. If he did tricks or wore a silly hat, Lincoln would understand and (begrudgingly) concede defeat. Welp, guess I have to win somewhere else. But all Mr. F. did was eat, poop, and run in circles in his hamster wheel. Like seriously? People are voting for this? Oh, come on! He could take losing, but at least let it be to a person and not a glorified plague rat.
On Sunday evening, he sat dejectedly in front of the ancient 90s model PC in his and Johnny's room while Johnny reclined on his bed and paged through an old comic book they found in a box in the attic. Alex and Jessy Fight Evil. Lincoln sighed and looked up at the screen, where his video remained unliked and unappreciated...just like him. It only had five views, and he was pretty sure at least four came from him.
Ruined.
He was ruined.
All washed up.
Out like yesterday's paper.
But unlike yesterday's paper, he was never in to begin with.
Where did he do wrong? Was he cursed? He must be. Everything he touched bombed worse than Cats. He was basically that Vince Russo guy talked about, only Vince Russo did a couple of things right. Lincoln? Not'a one.
Sigh.
He'd just crawl into bed and mope for a while.
He started to close out of the screen, but at the last minute, a review popped up. Lincoln's heart jumped into his throat and sat forward. Hot diggity dog, someone watched his video!
Nice try, it said, but you should see ur nayber Luan for some pointers. The username was LOL PRODUCTIONS.
His stomach clutched.
Luan, she of the sweet, lisping angel song, big brown eyes, and kissable lips. His eyes rolled back into his head and his mouth turned into a hazy, love-struck squiggle. The musical sound of her laughter wrapped itself around him like a warm hug and a vision of her face formed in his mind's eye.
She said to come see her for advice and now it was all clear to him; He should have done that in the first place. Luan ran a successful comedy website with thousands of followers and was a frickin' rock star on the birthday party/bar mitzvah circuit. If anyone could help him make an epic laff-vid, it would be her.
The next morning, Lincoln woke to the sound of the alarm. He leaned over, slapped the OFF button, and stretched. In the next bed over, Johnny rolled onto his back and smacked his lips tiredly together. "Time to do this again," he muttered.
Johnny wasn't a morning person. He was like their mom: It took him six cups of coffee, a Monster, caffeine pills, and a sacrifice to the Old Ones to get going. Speaking of Old Ones,he slept deeper than Cthulhu, which meant you could do almost anything to him and he'd be clueless.
"Yeah," Lincoln mumbled and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Time to face all his peers as the guy losing so hard Beck wanted to write a song about him. Every other video had at least one like; his was the only one with zero. The other kids were going to roast him, he just knew it.
Maybe they weren't paying attention.
Yeah, because they were all too busy kissing hAmStA CaM's butt. Oooh, look, he pooped again, let me make an alt account and LIKE IT AGAIN.
Sighing, he got out of bed, and Johnny held his hand up. Instead of grabbing it and pulling his brother to his feet, Lincoln gave it the cold shoulder and shuffled to his dresser. "Really?" Johnny asked.
"Get bent," Lincoln said.
"Bro," Johnny said, a warning in his voice, "don't even start this self-pitying bull. It's your own fault for making a dumb video no one wants to see."
His words struck Lincoln like a hail of bullets. "Yeah, you couldn't do any better."
Johnny's idea for an epic video was a Hampsta Cam knock off called Dad Cam, a continuous live stream of their father's recliner. Half the day it'd be completely empty, and the other half it'd be occupied by a big, sweaty black man in a dingy wife beater and his tighty whities. Watch...him munch on Cheese Nips. See...him shake his fist at Friday Night Smackdown. Hear...his chainsaw tier snores.
That was literally Johnny's tagline.
"I wasn't trying," Johnny said dismissively. "If I wanted to, I could make a video so good everyone would like it. It'd be like the Jeb Bush meme Dad keeps sharing on Facebook."
Ah, yes, the one with Jeb Bush standing in front of a map of the US on election night, and every state is his color because literally every single American realized he was the best candidate ever and voted for him. "No it wouldn't," Lincoln said. "It'd get negative likes."
"That's not even possible," Johnny shot back.
"It is for you because you suck."
Johnny took a deep breath, and Lincoln steeled himself for an attack. "Look," Johnny said evenly, "I know you're upset about not having a trophy or whatever, but you need to relax. So what you're a complete failure at everything you try? So what you throw like a girl, fall down a lot, and all that other stuff? You're still a great dude when you're not acting like a little baby."
Was that supposed to make him feel better or worse? "It does matter," Lincoln said, "I'm losing to the most boring video ever. Like...I'm worse than a hamster." His lips quivered and inexplicable tears welled in his eyes. He blinked them away and swallowed around a lump of emotion.
"No you're not," Johnny said. He threw the blankets off, sat up, and stretched. "Everyone else is losing to Hampsta Cam too."
True, but...everyone else wasn't a failboi like him. They were normal, well-adjusted kids who won every once in a while. They had plaques and awards coming out their ears, he just knew it. Meanwhile, he had nothing but a video with no likes and -
It hit him.
Luan!
He totally forgot. With her help, he'd make the most side-splitting video ever.
Filled with renewed hope, he got dressed and went downstairs while Johnny showered. As soon as he hit the bottom step, the aroma of bacon and eggs grabbed him by his nose and planted a tantalizing kiss on his lips. His stomach rumbled and a long tendril of olfactory stimulation dragged him into the kitchen, where his mother bustled back and forth between the stove and the toaster. Harried strands of hair stuck out from her snowy tresses and dark bags hung beneath her bloodshot eyes. Her skirt and orange blouse were both rumpled, and her hands jittered with nervous tension like overwrought power lines. Dad sat at the table and read from the morning paper, the atmosphere around him charged with static electricity like the air before a thunderstorm.
"Good morning," Mom said and slapped a piece of toast onto a plate.
"Morning," Lincoln said.
Without being asked, he set the table and refilled his father's coffee. Johnny came in just as he sat down and Lincoln rolled his eyes. Johnny said he liked taking his showers in the morning because they "woke him up" but he really did it to avoid having to do any work. And every morning, Lincoln forgot that fact until Johnny strode in looking smug.
Not only was Lincoln a failure, he was a mark, just like the kids he and Johnny scammed at school.
Now he felt even worse.
Mom sat their plates before them and dropped into her chair. Dad had the biggest portion because he was the king of the castle and always got the most, a fact to which his bulging gut could attest. "I tried something new with the eggs," Mom said, "tell me what you think."
They looked normal, but when Lincoln leaned in to sniff them, he detected the distinctive scent of cinnamon. He gingerly carved a piece off, stabbed it with his fork, and lifted it to his lips. Johnny watched expectantly, and when Lincoln paused, not sure if he wanted to put cinnamon-flavored egg in his mouth, he rammed his elbow into his side. Lincoln responded by throwing his hand out and knocking Johnny's paper-bag hat off. "Dude!"
Lincoln started to reply but stopped dead when he realized Dad was glaring at them over the top of the paper. He and Johnny both uttered a nervous laugh and dug in, nether caring about cinnamon in their eggs just so long as it kept Dad off their backs. Guy was built like a hot water heater and was just dying to try out those wrestling moves he saw every week on Fox and TNT. Reverse butt-lock DDP, aw mah gawd! Dad went back to the sports section, and Lincoln breathed a sigh of relief. I get to keep my butt, yay.
As sorry and unaccomplished as it was.
On second thought, you can have it.
After breakfast, Johnny washed the dishes while Dad lumbered off to work and Mom zipped around the house dusting this, that, and the other thing like Patrick getting ready for his parents. Sometimes Lincoln thought his mother was ADHD; she could never sit down for more than five minutes without getting restless and starting some kind of project. She was the type of person who'd take a bookshelf apart just to move it three inches and put it back together again.
When the dishes were done, Lincoln slipped into his jacket, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and left the house ahead of Johnny. The day was crisp and damp, rain drizzling from the leaden sky and a wet wind blowing from the west. The trees up and down the street blazed with color and fallen leaves plastered the street and sidewalk. "I'm going to see Luan after school," Lincoln said.
"Yeah," Johnny said, "through some binoculars. Like a weirdo."
Lincoln bristled. "No, I mean I'm going to talk to her. About helping me make a better video."
"That's a good idea, actually," Johnny said, "I don't know why we didn't think of that sooner."
"Right?"
Royal County Elementary sat at the end of a dead end street lined with houses and dense trees. Its big window watched the kids streaming toward it with unbridled hunger, like a fairy tale monster, and Lincoln felt an unexplainable twist of apprehension. Inside, a four-way intersection provided access to the bowels of the building - the small and large intestines of academic excellence, Johnny called it - and the main office was abuzz with activity. Lincoln and Johnny parted ways, and Lincoln spent the majority of the morning staring out the window with his chin in his palm and daydreaming about how awesome his video would be once Luan helped him. A few times in the hall between classes, kids called out to him, only instead of Lincoln, Linc, or Lincmeister (his personal favorite), it was "No-Likes." What up, No-Likes? and Here comes No-Likes. Everyone press F.
Apparently they weren't too busy kissing Hampsta Cam's butt to notice his legendary crash and burn.
During lunch, he sat at his usual table by the wall with Johnny and their friends, Sid, Stella, and Liam. Sid and Stella were both Asian, the latter more so than the former, and Liam was a red head with a Moe Howard bowl cut, fair skin, and an accent that Lincoln could never place. Funny thing was, Liam had lived his entire life in Royal Woods and had never even left the state of Michigan. Why he sounded like a Kentucky clodhopper, Lincoln would never know.
Though Lincoln had been the victim of taunting all morning, here with his friends, he was safe from mention of that dumb video stream.
"Did you guys see Hampsta Cam this morning?" Stella asked.
Darn it.
Guess not.
Suddenly the entire table erupted in excited chatter, and Lincoln threw his head back with a groan. How do you hire a mob hitman? Would they even take out something as small as a hamster? He had some Christmas and birthday money saved up. Hmmm.
"It was so cute," Sid said and waved her hand. Small and wispy in a blue sweater that slipped down to expose her freckled shoulders, Sid was a recent transplant from Great Lakes City, where her family ran a market in the Little Philippines district. She had a little sister who was in Lisa's class. From what Lincoln heard, they got along.
Stella fisted her hands to her chest and nodded eagerly, her mouth spread in a big, stupid grin. "I love Hampsta Cam. It's the best thing ever."
"It's a hampster," Lincoln blurted and tossed his hands up. "What's so cool about a dumb hampster?"
Sid, Stela, and Liam all gasped and shrank back as if he had just said something totally insane - like that Cats was a good movie. "Whoa there, hoss," Liam said, "Mr. Fluffums' ain't dumb."
"Yeah," Sid shot back, her eyes narrowed to slits. "Mr. Fluffums is the best and cutest hamster ever."
IT WAS A HAMSTER! It didn't do anything. The video feed was the same thing FOR LITERALLY HOURS.! Lincoln's face flushed and his teeth clenched. He was gonna lose it, and when he did, he'd blow like a nuclear warhead. Sid, Stella, the school, the town, everything would be consumed in the righteous flames of his world-ending wrath.
Then Stella took all the wind out of his sails and left him limp and dead on the floor. "You're just mad because Hampsta Cam is beating you. No-Likes."
Her lips formed his hated nickname in slow motion, and Lincoln winced as though he'd been shot. "Come on, guys," Sid said. She picked up her tray and got to her feet. "Let's go somewhere where Mr. Fluffums' isn't hated."
"Yeah," Stella agreed.
They filed off, leaving Lincoln and Johnny alone, and Lincoln hung his head. Great, now his friends thought he was a Mr. Fluffums hater. To be clear, he was, but still. "Way to go, Stincoln,' Johnny said, "you ran off our lunch group."
"Shut up," Lincoln grumbled. He knew he ran their lunch group off. Did Johnny really have to rub it in?
"Dude, you're making me mad," Johnny said firmly. "You need to put some balm on your burned up little butt and - "
Before he could stop himself, Lincoln jammed the heel of his palm hard into Johnny's shoulder, knocking him back. Johnny's face darkened...then he lunged at Lincoln with a womanly squeal. He crashed into him and they fell onto the floor in a heap, Johnny on top. He splayed his hand on Lincoln's face and pinned his head to the tiles. Lincoln kicked and thrashed, a stream of words (some not appropriate for a K-rated fan fiction) exploding from his throat. He brought his knee up and hit Johnny between the legs. Johnny's eyes widened and the fight left him so fast it left flaming skid marks in its wake.
Lincoln capitalized and threw his brother off. Kids gathered around them in a tight circle and chanted "Fight! Fight! Fight!"
Getting to his hands and knees, Lincoln shook his head. All of his rage over being punked by a hampster rushed up to the surface and his face turned bright red. He was going to smash, destroy, and maim everything in his wake. Starting with Johnny. You ran our lunch group off. Yeah, well, now I'm going to run your face off.
He staggered to his feet just as Johnny got to his. Their eyes locked, and carefully, they began to circle each other like wrestlers in the ring. Lincoln imagined Jim Ross calling play-by-play; the chants were intoxicating, his fans screaming for blood, his or Johnny's, they didn't care. For a moment, neither made a move, then they launched themselves at each other and locked up. Johnny slipped behind Lincoln and wrapped his forearm around Lincoln's throat; Lincoln hooked his arm behind Johnny's neck and tried to fling him over his shoulder.
Just then, the crowd parted, and Mr. Wyman, the school resource officer, stepped into the fray. A short, morbidly obese man in a brown and tan police uniform, Mr. Wayman was the law around these parts, but Lincoln didn't care, he was done being roasted by hamsters and idiots who wore paper bags on their heads.
"Hey, knock it off," Mr. Wyman called. He ripped them apart and yanked them off the ground, one dangling from his left hand and the other from his right like a pair of naughty kittens in their mother's maw.
"He started it!" Lincoln cried and kicked his legs.
"No I didn't, he did! I wanna press charges!" He shot Lincoln a dirty look. "You're going to jail, buddy. Say hi to Big Bubba for me."
Lincoln tried to grab him, but Mr. Wyman swung them around. "Alright, you two, you're coming downtown."
Lincoln and Johnny both froze.
D-Downtown?
Like…
JAIL?
As it turned out, 'downtown' was Mr. Wayman speak for 'detention.' Because Lincoln and Johnny were brothers and attacked each other at least once a week, no one in the front office took the fight seriously. Thank God, no one called Dad.
At the end of the day, they were released from custody and walked home through the failing afternoon light like nothing had happened. Their spats, though often ferocious, were always short-lived and forgotten just as quickly as they arose. That was brotherhood, Lincoln figured; you beat your bro down then help him back up and have an adult beverage with him. Since he and Johnny weren't adults yet, they'd have to settle on some apple juice when they got home. "Mr. Porter was smelling funky today, huh?" Johnny asked.
Mr. Porter was the in-school suspension...uh...teacher? Could you really call the guy who watched over the kids in ISS a "teacher"? He was a teacher in general, but detention isn't a class and -
Nevermind. Fat, pale, and sweaty, Mr. Porter had a well-deserved reputation for stinking, and today, he was at peak performance.
"Don't remind me," Lincoln said. "Guy needs a better deodorant."
"He needs to take a bath every once in a while."
They were on Franklin Avenue now, the Loud House ahead on the right. The oak tree in the front yard screened its grimy facade and its pitched roof thrust into the sky like a hand hailing a cab. By unspoken consent, Lincoln and Johnny crossed the street, cut across the lawn, and went up the steps. Lincoln knocked, and a few minutes later, Lana opened the door. She looked from Lincoln to Johnny, then blushed deeply, her white skin turning dark red. All of the Loud girls from Lynn down to Lily had a crush on Johnny.
"Hey," Lincoln said with a curt nod, "is Luan here?"
Lana rubbed the back of her neck and nervously ducked her head. "Uh...yeah, come in."
They found Luan in hers and Luna's room. She perched on the edge of the dresser with her legs crossed and her dummy Mr. Coconuts in her lap. "And that's when I said...boy, you sure know how to hold them!"
She broke out laughing and waved her hand (stop, stop, you're killing me). Lincoln let out a dreamy sigh and almost melted into a puddle...but held himself together. He wasn't here for that. He was here on business.
When Luan turned her big brown eyes on him, however, his mind blanked. "Hey, Linc," she piped. "Hey, Johnny, what'cha guys up to?"
What were they up to?
Oh, right.
"I need help," Lincoln said. "With my project."
Luan jumped down from the dresser and tossed Mr. Coconuts onto her bed. "The video thing, right?"
"Yeah," Lincoln, "um...I'm kind of bombing."
"I noticed," Luan said. "I mean...I'm coming, Oprah? Really? That was not funny. It was cringe. Pure, high octane crnge."
Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad, was it?
He started to say that, but Luan swept past him and went to the closet. "Let me get my camera and we can get started." She opened the door, and Lincoln was surprised to see stacks and stacks of video tapes crammed into the space.
One had his name on it.
He blinked. "Uh...Luan?"
"Yeah, Linc?"
"Why is there a video tape labeled Lincoln in your closet?"
"Because I take videos of you sometimes. You're hilarious when you're not trying." She picked the video up, went to her desk, and shoved it into the VCR. Lincoln and Johnny exchanged a bemused glance, then turned to the TV. Onscreen, Lincoln walked across his front yard...then stepped on a rake. It swung up and hit him in the face. "Ow," he moaned.
The scene jumped to him sitting in a bubble bath full of toys and rubber duckies. His jaw hit his chest and Johnny burst into laughter. Bath-Linc slicked his hair back with soap and tossed his head from side-to-side. "I got a voice...I love to sing...I sing like a girl…"
Lincoln sprang at the TV and hit the OFF button. Johnny and Luan were both laughing hysterically and Lincoln's face burned with shame. "You're a laugh riot," Luan said, "you can win that trophy for sure."
He started to scold her (why do you even have this video?), but an idea struck him.
"Luan!" Leni called from down the hall. "I need help. I'm stuck in baby jail again."
Throwing her head back, Luan let out a deep sigh and got to her feet. "I'll be right back."
She got to her feet and went out into the hall. When she was gone, Lincoln pressed the EJECT button and grabbed the tape. "What are you doing?" Johnny asked.
Lincoln opened his mouth, then closed it again. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to embarrass himself in front of the entire school...the entire world...just to wind a trophy? Did he really feel that bad about being an inept loser? Was he really that desperate to win?
He imagined the flush of victory as Mrs. Johnson handed him his prize. The other kids all clapped and cheered his name. Every eye beheld him...and you know what they saw?
A winner.
"Stealing this tape," he said and jammed it into his coat.
Johnny's face fell. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, no, we can't do that."
"We can and we will."
He turned, but Johnny grabbed him and spun him around to face him. "Dude, put it back."
"No," Lincoln said, "this is just what I need to win that contest."
"Humiliating yourself?" Johnny demanded.
Lincoln hesitated. "Yes. If it makes winning and not being a failure for once." He pulled away from his brother's grasp and hurried away. Johnny stared after him for a moment, not sure what to do, then followed.
"Okay, guys," Luan said as she came back into the room, "I'm ready to -"
But they were gone.
At first, Johnny wasn't down with Lincoln posting Luan's video online. One, it wasn't Lincoln's, and two...some of the stuff in there was really embarrassing. Like reaaaaally embarrassing. After he and Lincoln watched the full thing, Johnny turned to him and fixed him with a challenging gaze. You're not posting this.
Yes I am, Lincoln replied.
Dude, no, that's social suicide.
A mad light gleamed in Lincoln's eye. I don't care. I need to win.
No you don't, Johnny said.
That's when it happened.
Lincoln rammed the heel of his palm into Johnny's shoulder just like he had at school and told him to buzz off, only he didn't say 'buzz.' Hot anger rose in Johnny's chest and he started to hit back, but instead, he did something even worse...something so messed up that he would never let himself live it down.
What he did was this: He looked at Lincoln, bared his teeth, and said, Fine, upload it.
And Lincoln did.
Have fun being the laughingstock of the school, Johnny said as he left the room.
I will, Lincoln said, with my trophy.
Ohhhh, my trophy. I know what you can do with that trophy, buddy, but I can't say it out loud or Dad will make me eat a bar of soap.
Still mad from his encounter with Lincoln, Johnny left the house and walked to the park to clear his head. By the time he got there ten blocks later, his anger had gone and sickly dread had taken its place. Images from the video flickered mockingly across his mind, and his stomach flipped. Jeez, did Lincoln really post that thing? Was he insane? Everyone was going to see all of his most...compromising moments...and then laugh him into the Stone Age.
Was he really that determined to win?
Why?
Lincoln could be competitive - just like Johnny himself - but he was never a psycho about it. He went back to the frenzied look in his little brother's eyes, and a deep frown touched his lips. He said he felt like a loser and a failure, but Johnny kind of brushed that off. Lincoln exaggerated a lot. Maybe this time he was being serious and he really felt inferior or something.
He resolved to talk to Lincoln as soon as he got back. He turned on his heels and marched home like a soldier on his way to the front. At home, Lincoln sat behind the PC in their room and gaped at the screen, his body thrumming. Johnny bent over his shoulder to see, and was floored by what he saw.
Lincoln's little video?
It had 59 likes and 21 comments.
Johnny's mouth fell open.
I'm gonna win, Lincoln squeed.
Lincoln may have been desperate to win, but he wasn't so desperate that he didn't edit out ten minutes of the most embarrassing footage. From the way some of those comments sounded, people wanted more, and in a flash, Johnny, like Phineas, knew what he was going to do today. He shoved Lincoln aside and slid into his chair. What are you doing? Lincoln demanded.
Bout to make some money, Johnny said.
He set up a free website with Wix, embedded a link in the video, and offered the ten minutes Lincoln cut out for 2.99. He called it Too Hot 4 YouTube so people would be more inclined to buy it. What? Too hot for YouTube? Holy wow, guys, I'll take two. That was good marketing. Make your product seem cooler than it actually is. If he had the time, he'd make a commercial showing it flying, wearing sunglasses, hanging out with hot women, and curing male pattern baldness to appeal to that all-important 45 to 80 demographic.
Within the first hour, they made nearly a hundred bucks. At bedtime, Johnny checked the app on his phone, and that number had risen by twenty. He smiled to himself.
Posting that video was his best idea ever.
Or so he thought.
The next day when he and Lincoln walked into Royal County Elementary, every face in the crowded hall turned toward them...and everyone, everyone, exploded into mocking laughter. The principal held his stomach and jabbed his finger at Lincoln, and Chandler McCann, the school bully, yelled, Look, everyone, it's bath boy! Johnny didn't care what others thought of him but he was mad embarrassed for Lincoln. Lincoln, however, didn't seem fazed. He went to his locker with a dreamy little smile and a spring in his step. Kids called out taunts and insults, but they were the wind beneath Lincoln's cape. Someone threw a balled up piece of paper at the back of his head, and someone else screeched, "I sing like a girl!" in a very Lincolnish falsetto. Stella, whose locker was next to his, saw him coming, grimaced like the sight of his terminal dorkitude physically pained her, and rushed off before any of it could rub off on her.
Maybe posting that video wasn't such a good idea.
His phone pinged and he took it out.
Another payment.
Actually, no, it was a good idea.
All that day, Johnny divided his attention between his studies and his phone, obsessively checking his and Lincoln's video. It stood at seventy-five likes. Hampsta Cam had 150. There were three days of the contest left. Lincoln's video was currently in third place. If they could get it past Hampsta Cam, they'd win.
Well, Lincoln would win, Johnny already had.
At lunch, he sat with Lincoln by the wall and gobbled down his food. Nothing makes a man quite as hungry as making bank, amirite? When he was done, he realized something. Stella, Sid, and Liam weren't around. "Where's our lunch group?" he asked.
"Over there," Lincoln said.
Everyone in the entire cafeteria was staring at Lincoln like he was a circus freak. Stella, Sid, and Liam sat with a group of kids and stole quick, suspicious glances at Lincoln, like he was going to come over and hurt them. Johnny noticed a certain tension in the air, thick and hot and crushing, and he felt suddenly uncomfortable.
On the way home, passing motorists honked their horns, and passengers stuck their heads out the window. "It's Bath Boy!" At first, Lincoln was unaffected, but as they got closer to home, he started to sag like a wilting flower. A block from their driveway, Flip passed in a truck so old it collected social security. The sides were rushed, the tires bald, and thick black smoke belched from the exhaust. "Nice video, Velazquest," he called. He chucked something out the window and it hit Lincoln in the head, knocking him down.
A rubber ducky.
Johnny helped him to his feet. "I'm starting to get tired of this," Lincoln said, "on the plus side, my video's in second place now."
And their account stood at 200 bucks even.
Suh-weet.
They were going up the walkway when someone called out behind them. They turned just as Luan hurried up, her face set in a hard glower. Lincoln had a major crush on Luan and Johnny ribbed him about it. She'll wear big, floppy shoes and a red nose at your wedding, he said, and how Lincy blushed.
She honed in on Lincoln like a laser guided missile and jabbed her finger into his face; he shrank back like a timid puppy and nearly tripped over his own feet. "You," she lisped with such fury that even Johnny recoiled.
"Me what?" Lincoln asked. He was pale and shaking.
"You stole my video and uploaded it without my permission."
Lincoln missed a beat. "Well...yeah...but -"
"Take it down," she said tightly, "and give me the master copy back. Now."
Lincoln started to speak, but Johnny cut him off. "Why did you even have that video in the first place?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Comedy," she said as though that should explain everything.
"Okay," Johnny said, "but you took that without his permission."
Luan faltered, then recovered. "So? I wasn't going to share it."
"That doesn't matter," Johnny retorted, "it was still wrong. That tape belongs to us. You can just go back across the street and fall in a cream pie." He gestured toward the Loud house.
She clenched her jaw, and a slow, red flush crept over her face. She balled her fists and shook like she was going to blow, and grabbing Lincoln by the arm, Johnny rushed him inside. He locked the door and peeked out the sidelight window. Luan stalked away, but Johnny had the feeling he and Linc would be seeing her again.
Ping.
Another five payments.
Lincoln checked his phone.
Another five likes.
He grinned. "We got this, man," he said. "We got this by the butt."
And indeed they did.
The next day, Johnny strutted through the halls of Royal Woods Elementary like a cocksure rooster. Lincoln kept pace at his side, back bent back and lips pursed. Johnny used a stick he found on the way to school as a cane, and Lincoln wore a pair of sunglasses he picked up at Flip's the previous day. Rings glinted on their fingers and chains around their necks. Yesterday, their mom took them to the grocery store and they used some of their newfound fortune to raid the gumball machines in the foyer, which is where all the bling came from.
Everyone stepped aside as they passed, like the Red Sea parting for Moses. Johnny liked to imagine they were all looking at him and Lincoln with envy, but it looked an awful lot like pity.
At lunch, Johnny was waiting in line, Lincoln five heads behind him. "Hey, Velazquest," a firm voice said. "Nice video."
"Thanks," Lincoln replied.
"You looked really good messing yourself."
Johnny twisted around. Poppa Wheelie, fat, red faced, and panting, stood over Lincoln's shoulder, a mocking light in his eyes.
Huh.
He must have bought the extra footage.
"It happens," Lincoln said in a what-are-you-going-to-do tone.
"Yeah, to you," Poppa Wheelie said.
Lincoln shrugged.
"You're a joke, Velazquest. You pooped yourself like a little baby. You're such a loser, I'm LMAOing at your life."
Then he did it.
He shoved Lincoln.
Un-uh.
Johnny broke from the line and strolled over. Poppa Wheelie looked him up and down, and before he could react, Johnny swept him into a front facing headlock just like the guys on Dynamite. Poppa screamed, and everyone backed cautiously away. "Don't touch my brother," Johnny hissed.
"Please, let me go!" Poppa wailed. He thrashed and flailed his arms, then broke down crying. "I'm so sorry."
Johnny was debating with himself whether or not to give the bully a DDT when someone tapped him on the shoulder. "Man, what?" he asked and turned.
Mr. Wyman glared down at him.
Uh-oh.
Fifteen minutes later, Poppa Wheelie was laid out in the nurses' office lying about having whiplash so he could go home and eat cupcakes and Lincoln and Johnny were in detention. Again. Mr. Porter read a copy of Fantasy & Science Fiction with an illustration of green, cloud-shrouded hillocks on the cover, and Johnny checked his phone. Two more buys and three more likes.
Oh yeah.
He was just starting to relax when the loudspeaker crackled and asked him and Lincoln to come to the front office. Okay, whateve. The principal probably wanted to chat. No biggie.
When he and Lincoln got there, though, he saw that it wasn't that.
Mom stood in the main office, her brows furrowed in an angry V.
Uh-oh.
They weren't even in the car yet when she uttered those words he dreaded. "Wait until I tell your father."
"No!" he and Lincoln cried in unison.
Dad would make what he did to Poppa Wheelie look like a loving embrace. "Please, I did it to protect L -"
She threw up her hand. "I don't want to hear this. I'm sick and tired of you two getting into fights."
On the ride home, Johnny played Taps on his phone...because it was all over, folks.
Mom sent him and Lincoln to their room, and there they stayed for the rest of the afternoon. Lincoln tried to read a comic but couldn't concentrate, and Johnny paced, dreading the sound of his father's car pulling into the driveway. Just before four, the door of 1216 opened and Luan stormed out with Lisa running to keep pace. Johnny watched them come with a puzzled frown. "Hey, Linc," he said, "we got company."
Lincoln tossed his comic aside, got up, and stood next to him at the window. When Luan and Lisa were in the yard, Johnny lifted the sash and stuck his head out. "What do you want?"
They looked up, and Luan narrowed her eyes. "I'm giving you creeps ten minutes to take that video down and give me the cassette back."
Johnny snorted. She was cute when she was mad. No wondered Lincoln liked her.
Lisa adjusted her glasses. "Greetings, Johnny," she said. Her tone was cold and calculated, but Johnny knew her well enough that he could detect the slight tremble in her voice. It made him feel good that the Loud girls liked him and all, but once you got to the ones younger than Lynn, it got kiiind of weird.
"I want my tape back," Luan said and put her hands defiantly on her hips.
Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other.
Ping.
Another payment.
Five more likes. They were two away from beating Hampsta Cam. Lincoln's heart bounced into his throat and a heady rush of triumpth came over him. He was going to do it. He was actually going to win this thing.
"Go away," he called.
Luan's eyes flashed dangerously, and she turned to Lisa. "Fine," she said, "let's go, Lisa." She spun and stomped home, Lisa running to keep from being left behind.
Ping.
Another like.
Lincoln's stomach knotted. "Dude," he said giddily, "dude, one more."
Johnny slapped his back. They had money, Lincoln was finally going to get his thropy and prove he wasn't a loser, and everything was alright.
Then Dad's car turned into the driveway.
Oh no.
Across the street, Luan opened her window and got down to one knee. She had a direct visual on Lincoln and Johnny's bedroom window. Next to her, Lisa set up her laptop and banged a sequence of keys. "Are you in?" Luan asked.
"In a moment," Lisa said.
Luan turned back to the window and watched Mr. Velazquest waddle up the porch steps like a fridge come to life. "Okay," Lisa said, "I hacked the server and am waiting for the video to delete." She sat her laptop aside, picked up what looked like a gun with a big antenna dish instead of a barrel, and got to her knees. She put a pair of headphones over her ears, and Luan jammed her fingers into hers.
Those boys thought they could get one over on her, but they were dealing with a professional. She was Luan Loud, she always got the last laugh.
Lisa braced her elbows on the sill and aimed the VHS Killer 3000 out the window. She squinted one eye and plastered her tongue to her upper lip. She jerked the trigger, and a low, teeth-vibrating hum issued forth…
"WHERE'S MY BELT?" Dad roared. Lincoln and Johnny cowered on Lincoln's bed. B-Belt? He hadn't used his belt in years.
"The attic," Mom said.
Heavy footsteps passed in the hall, and the folding door to the attic clunked down. This was it, Johnny thought, his life was over. He had a good run. It wasn't a long one, mind you, but it was good.
Suddenly, a strange, warbling noise filled his head and he started to shake. Lincoln felt it too. What was that?
Johnny got to his feet and stumbled against the desk. Luan's video tape sat next to the keyboard, and as Johnny watched in amazement, it crumbled into a little bitty pile of ash.
Ping.
A breath of heat broke over Johnny like the angry puff of dragon breath, and then it was all over. Lincoln picked up his phone to check the ping, then tensed. "It's gone!"
"What do you mean?"
"My video!" Lincoln cried. "Someone deleted it!"
In that instant, Johnny knew.
Lisa.
The sound of Luan Loud's mad laughter drifted across the street, and soon, Lincoln's desolate weeping covered it.
In the attic, Mr. Velazquest knelt before an open box. His belt, the wide one with NWO on it just like the one Hollywood Hogan used to use, was coiled on top of a library of neatly organized VHS tapes that comprised the entirety of the Monday Night Wars, when WCW and WWF went head-to-head in a ratings battle to end all ratings battles. He was a huge wrestling junkie as a kid, and he taped every episode of Monday Nitro and Monday Night Raw, every pay-per-view from the rise of the NWO and D-Generation X to the fall of WCW and the fabled Night of Champions. He loved this collection only slightly less than he loved his sons. Unlike them, it had never disappointed him and never, ever needed to be punished.
He grabbed the belt and started to get to his feet, but a skull rattling sonic blast hit him in the face. He reeled, almost fell, and got control of himself. He started to get up, then froze.
In the box...his tapes...his beautiful tapes…
They had turned to ash.
The belt dropped from his hand and his heart stopped mid-beat. No...no, this couldn't be…
He dipped his hands in, sure that he was hallucinating, but the tapes were gone.
Everything.
Clash of the Champions, Fall Brawl, Bash at the Beach, Survivor Series, King of the Ring, Hogan's Heel turn, Goldberg's winning streak, JR lowblowing Michael Cole, The Montreal Screwjob…dead...all dead...
His lips began to tremble and hot tears filled his eyes.
Throwing his head back and his arms out on either side of him as if in supplication of a cruel god, he wailed his misery.
"WHHHHHHHHHHYYYYY?"
He was so broken up that he didn't whip Lincoln and Johnny that night. He was too busy curled up in bed, sucking his thumb, and crying while his wife patted his back.
Lincoln dragged himself into class and sank into his seat. Today, Mrs. Johnson would announce the winner of the video contest, not that it mattered. Lincoln's video was deleted and he was out. Ruined. All washed up. He drew a watery sigh and blotted his eyes with the heel of his palm. He guessed he couldn't blame Luan for doing it. He did steal her tape and you know what they say about living and dying by the gun.
At lunch, he stared dejectedly down into his food while Johnny consoled him. Stella, Sid, and Liam drifted over and sat around him in a cluster. You okay? Stella asked. You look really sad.
He is really sad, Johnny said. He had been Lincoln's voice all day like his name was Jimmy Hart. Talking took too much energy. Existing took too much energy.
I'm sorry, Sid said, for what it's worth, it was a really funny video.
I voted for it five times, Liam said, if a feller posts somethin' like that you know they wanna win and, darn it, Lincoln deserved it.
He did want to win. So bad. Everyone else got to have a win every once in a while, but not him. He was a loser with nothing. No talent. No ability. He was dangerously handsome, but that's not a talent. Everyone he knew from Johnny on down to Liam could do something, him? Not so much.
Sigh.
Presently, Mrs. Johnson stood at the head of the room, and Lincoln hung his head. "Alright, class, it's time to announce the winner of the fifth grade video contest."
A murmur went through the room and Lincoln took a deep breath. Oh well. Nothing wrong with being a hack, right? Kim Kardashian had no talent and everyone loved her.
"And the winner is…"
At least he and Johnny made some money. They still had close to two hundred dollars in their account. They could go to Dairyland with it or -
"Lincoln Velazquest."
Lincoln was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that it took Mrs. Johnson's words a moment to sink in. When they did, Lincoln sat up straight. "Me?"
"Yes, you," Mrs. Johnson said.
"But how? My video got deleted."
"It still got the most likes," she said.
That didn't make sense. It got more like than Hamsta Cam only moments before it was deleted.
Then he remembered. It was directly linked to the school server and every like was automatically registered in the system.
Mrs. Johnson picked up a trophy from her desk and told him to come to the front of the room. Lincoln's eyes fixed on the golden idol and his heartbeat sped up. He did it...he really did it, he won something. He got to his feet and walked to the head of the class like a man on clouds. A shaft of light fell through the ceiling and bathed the trophy and a chorus of angels struck up. He took it in his hands and for the first time in his life, he felt like a winner.
A smattering of kids clapped half-heartedly but to him it was thunderous applause. He held the award over his head and let out a victory screech that some say is still echoing through the halls of RWE even to this day.
On the walk home, Lincoln stroked his award like a beloved pet, and Johnny clapped his back. "Good work, man," he said, "I'm proud of you. You didn't have to win a hunk of metal to prove you're a talented guy, though."
Lincoln shrugged. Yes he did.
"I say we go out to eat tonight, my treat." Johnny checked his phone and came to a grinding halt.
"What?" Lincoln asked.
"We're down a hundred bucks."
Lincoln looked at the screen. They had 99 dollars whereas they started the day with 200. "What'd you spend it on?"
"Nothing," Johnny said, "it-"
The same idea hit them at the exact same time.
Luan.
And as if on cue, Luan Loud's maniacal laughter resounded through the neighborhood.
Like she said:
Luan Loud always got the last laugh.
The End