The following morning Darren, Wyatt, and I woke up at 7 AM. I was sleeping on the couch (since I had volunteered), Darren slept on the other couch that could fold out into a bed, and Wyatt and Amaya each had a separate room in the suite.
I was lying down, slowly drifting out of unconsciousness to the steps of Wyatt in the kitchen, fiddling around with a coffee bag and a coffee maker. I lifted my head up like a zombie rising from the grave. I met gazes with Darren, and he was stunned to see Wyatt up and moving.
“Sorry, guys, I didn’t mean to wake y’all up,” Wyatt said, with his back turned towards us . He pressed buttons to get the coffee maker gurgling. A satisfying high-temperature drip sound reached my ears.
“I gotta pee,” I said, kicking off the covers and barely picking my feet up on my way to the bathroom as I slid along the hardwood floor. I jumped when I entered the hallway to the main bathroom. Amaya was standing right in front of me with her hands clenched tightly at her sides. She was already dressed.
I didn’t even hear her leave her bedroom.
“We’re goin’ today, guys,” her voice rumbled like thunder in the distance.
“I don’t think they heard you.”
“We’re fuckin’ goin’ guys! We’re fuckin’ going, and we’re kicking some serious ass today at this tournament!” she shouted so loud it would make a lion shutter.
Darren shot up from the couch, and Wyatt leaned over from the kitchen area to look down the hall, he had one eyebrow cocked up, and the corner of his lip curled high up. “Okay!” Wyatt blurted loud enough to reach the enthusiasm and tenacity of Amaya.
We prepared for the day and returned to the street to discover a new diner we hadn’t experienced. Still, they were very similar to the other two that we went to. Menus were the same bland lineup of overpriced breakfast favorites, and the walls, floors, booths, and bathrooms felt like they hadn’t changed much since the 70s. Who knows if they had even been cleaned thoroughly since then either. I was willing to bet that the walls permanently smelled like bacon.
Madison Square Garden was the destination for the rest of the day. The doubles tournament started at 10 AM and went until 9 PM, with opportunities for breaks between the rounds. We planned on getting food accordingly. Darren and I even offered to go grab takeout at a restaurant and bring it back to the venue if they wanted to stay, but both Wyatt and Amaya remained firm in their stance. They wanted to go out to eat with us. They looked forward to doing that escape into the city between arduous days of exploiting total concentration and brain power at a flashing screen of computer-generated animations.
Amaya was wearing the baby blue sweatshirt of one of her sponsors, ‘Dust Gone,’ and on the back was the logo for the game “TECH-A.” Wyatt was wearing his signature tank top, short shorts, and a bandanna tied around his head.
Darren and I followed the two around like pack mules for every match. Almost every time someone met Wyatt and looked at him, they inevitably laughed at his style, demeanor, or presence. Wyatt never retaliated, nor did he respond to the laughter. He let his playing do all the talking. As Wyatt and Amaya kept advancing to the next rounds, his opponents seemed to fear him.
A flock of people still followed around Amaya that probably outnumbered seagulls on a beach filled with bread. Some of them were their opponents in the later rounds, and no one laughed when they shook Wyatt’s hand. No one laughed when he awkwardly plugged his controller in a while, bumping into his opponents an accident. No one laughed anymore when he took a seat at the chair in front of the screen with his legs spread wide open like a hawk showcasing its wingspan and slumping down to achieve peak comfort as a substitute for proper manners. People were quick (or slow if you think four rounds is too much) to start taking Wyatt seriously. He was up in the limelight. He knew it too judging by his reserved demeanor in later rounds. But everyone learned a valuable lesson (especially those who lost to him), Wyatt came to play.
He’d plug in, and so would Amaya, the two of them played better than our scrimmages when Darren was my teammate. That day, something was clicking just right. Wyatt and Amaya were dominant. They were making history, and it was meant to be that way. Sure, they had to play the games, but I knew who would be the victor because destiny had been subconsciously revealed to me.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Amaya and Wyatt cruised to the finals of the doubles tournament.
“Alex, get ready for the main event, the perfect way to end this fairytale weekend at Madison Square Garden! Yesterday’s singles tournament winner, Dayzees, has made it back to the finals today. But with his new partner, R3-kless, also his teammate for the Miami tournament.”
I whispered to Darren, “I’m pretty sure R3-kless is Jacob, the other guy in Dayzees’ Miami group.”
“It is.” Darren nodded.
“And then we have over here, Amaya and her teammate, Y-do-nut, who was an unknown player in Elite Crushers scene, until today. He has made an impressive splash that I think will launch this guy’s career. Not to mention his outfit and vibe have been celebrated by the fans here,” Tommy Gotobed said.
“Enough with the chatter. Let’s bring them out here, the moment everyone has been waiting for!” Alex yelled. “Dayzees and R3-Klesssssssss vs. Y-do-nut and Amayaaaaaaaaaaaa!” The crowd exploded into a cheer that was so loud and intense that all of Madison Square Garden vibrated. Darren and I sat on the ground floor in the same seats as the day before, and we had to cover our ears from the piercing sound.
From behind the main projection screen, Wyatt and Amaya emerged like gods with a spotlight following them on one side with fog whipping up around them. On the other side, Dayzees and Jacob strode with their arms swinging high, and a smug grin.
I couldn’t stop the tears sputtering from my eyes while I smacked my hands together for the loudest clapping I could possibly produce. Those are my friends, I know them, and I love them. Here they are about to make right with the world and fix everything. Sure, Amaya and Wyatt had their greatest challenge yet, but they would take home the money and glory. I just knew it.
I chuckled and shook my head, but my eyes had hearts in them as I watched Amaya walk on stage and sit in her chair like an average person. Still, Wyatt had his mouth open, and his eyes were in a starstruck daze. He fumbled with the chair while holding onto his controller and adjusting his headband. Some other people were howling with laughter in the audience, but Dayzees and Jacob glared at him while they were already seated.
Darren and I both took our seats; our knees were jumping around while our arms were shaking.
“Wow, this might go down as one of the best and closest doubles tournaments we’ve ever seen,” Tommy said. “We went to a full seven games. Surprisingly, Amaya and Y-do-nut looked promising, locking up two wins in the start, but with another five-game masterpiece of playing, Dayzees only dropped one more game before emerging on top. Thank you very much, everyone, for coming out and supporting the Elite Crushers community,” Tommy said as he gave a small crystal trophy to both Dayzees and Jacob. Wyatt and Amaya had already cleared off the stage.
I received a text from Amaya that said: We’re going back to the hotel, just meet us there.
I showed it to Darren, and he shrugged. Both of us couldn’t form words. We moped out of Madison Square Garden together, plopped down on the train seats, and went to the hotel.
When we walked into the room, Wyatt was sitting at the table that could easily fit eight people, directly behind the living room. His head was down on the table, pressing against his arm. Amaya was scrolling on her phone with one hand, and with her other, she was supporting her head upright.
“Hey guys, how’s it going?” Darren asked.
“Take any of the wise-ass sage advice you were planning on delivering and cram it up to your—“
“Relax,” Darren said, chortling and holding his hands up as if a weapon was being pointed at him. “I’m just asking how it’s going, you know, being friendly with a little greeting is all, no need to get bent out of shape.”
“Who said I was bent out of shape?” Wyatt said. His voice was muffled since he still had his head on the table.
“Okay, I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to strike a nerve or anything.”
“I think he’s taking it harder than I am,” Amaya said, lifting her head off her hand and making eye contact with Darren and me. “Glad you guys are here and were there all day supporting us. I’m not sure why, but I don’t feel upset, and I’m not sure why.”
“Because it’s an improvement from yesterday’s debacle.” Wyatt sighed as his head emerged from the darkness of his folded arms. His forehead was pink and imprinted from the headband. “And today is an improvement because at least we got second place and made it to the finals… But I’m taking it harder because this is my first time ever failing on a big stage. I was just at Madison Square fucking Garden. A place that I didn’t even think was possible to be participating in an event at. But here I am, trying to make a career out of this because obviously I have some talent, but I just blew a huge opportunity. I told my mom I would pay her back for funding this whole trip for me since I’m nothin’ but a sleazy bum. I told her we would win, but I ain’t got a dime in my pocket to bring back for her.”
I reached in my pocket and jiggled around with my fingers until I found what I needed. I pulled it out and flipped it towards the table, where a high-pitched ding rang out as it landed right next to his arm. “You can take that dime back to your mom.”
Wyatt picked it up with two fingers and fiddled with it in the light, shining the surface on his face for a moment. His frown curled into a weak smile. “Fuck you, Gordie.” He paused, then chuckled, which sounded like snow sloshing between a pair of boots.