Time was flying by. Two nights before the Chicago tournament (that occurred during my senior year of high school), I went over to Amaya’s house. My parents were cool with it, and Darren and Wyatt would also be there. We just wanted as much time as possible to practice. Wyatt and I started going at it in Elite Crushers.
“Gordie, are you alright, man?” Wyatt asked, grinning.
“Yeah, why do you ask?” I said.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed because you’ve been in such a fuckin’ groove, but you beat me three times in a row.” Wyatt shook his head and shot a glance over at Darren and Amaya. They were at the table, still eating the Thai food takeout. “Any of you guys wanna piece of him? This kid is on fire tonight.”
“I’ll take him as soon as I’m done. I’ll take him to the fridge,” Darren said.
“You know that doesn’t mean anything,” I said.
Darren shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s a video game reference from an older generation. Even though it didn’t mean anything in the game, it still sounds brutal. Oh, did you see that? The guy got his ass kicked, and he got taken to the fridge. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
I chuckled. “Just get over here. I’m feeling it tonight.”
“Alright, alright, scoot over, pipsqueak. Let me hop on the sticks.” Darren leaped out of the chair and picked up the controller that Wyatt was playing with. “You’re goin’ down now.”
Darren wished.
Wyatt was right, I felt like I was in a groove, and I beat Darren in three matches. He gripped the controller as if he was about to turn into the Hulk and tear it in half, he even motioned like he was about to spike it at the ground, but he stopped himself.
“We’re good… I’m good. Gordie, what’s gotten into you?”
“I don’t know. Things just feel like they’re clicking tonight.” I grinned in disbelief.
“Move over, Darren, let me get a piece of the action,” Amaya said.
Right away from the first match, I felt a surge of sweat in my hands that poured onto the controller. Just Amaya’s presence in the game was enough to make anyone tremble. No matter how close we were as friends, she was a fierce warrior in Elite Crushers. Was I about to beat her in three straight matches like the other blokes?
“VICTORY STAR-POWER,” the game announced.
“I don’t know what you guys were talking about. He’s playing just as he normally would.” Amaya turned her head just enough to side glance and smirk at me.
Was I about to win best two out of three against her?
I brushed my hands off using my blue jeans and gripped the controller again. “Let’s run it back.”
Our first match was close; she only had 20% health left at the end. Not bad, considering she usually has 50% left. I leaned off my seat to become more absorbed in the TV. It’s inexplicable, really. There’s just something about moving the head closer to the screen that turns me into the player I want to become. Mistakes feel limited. I feel closer to the controller and to the game.
After a blur of a match that left Darren and Wyatt’s jaws dropped, the game announced.
“VICTORY GOLDEN-BOW.”
I screamed, I screamed so loud that my eyes stung. I was crying. I was actually crying. For the first time in my life, I had beaten Amaya, the number two player in the world.
“What is happened?” Darren said.
“Gordie, man, what’s up tonight? You’re taking no prisoners!” Wyatt beamed.
Amaya waved dismissively. “You can’t play perfectly all the time. As I’m sure, he’ll find out in the next match.”
“I don’t know, Amaya. I’m starting to think that maybe Gordie should have teamed up with you this weekend in the doubles tournament,” Darren said. At first, I thought he was kidding, but when I saw the stern look in his eyes, I realized he was serious.
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it. Whether it’s you, Gordie, or Wyatt, we can win the doubles tournament no matter who my partner is. I just wish I saw this from Gordie sooner,” Amaya said, nudging me with her elbow.
The next match we played, her smile disappeared, and she zoned in. An earthquake could have torn through her apartment, and Amaya still would have been staring at the screen. Her concentration was unmatched. I tried to mimic her focus and steal another victory, but she struck back.
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“VICTORY STAR-POWER,” the game shouted.
I feel like I touched the crown, but my hand was batted away. Amaya reaffirmed why she was royalty with that last match. I lost while she still had 60% of her health bar. While I hung my head at the moment, deep down, I knew I had a victory against her, and it was possible to become one of the best.
“Damn, I wish I was playing in the tournament so bad,” Wyatt said.
“Yeah, I do, too,” Amaya said.
“I can’t apologize enough for it. But I promise it will never happen again if I’m given another chance.”
“I mean, I don’t know as much as Amaya does, but don’t you have like 25,000 followers on Instagram? To me, that’s amazing for someone with no sponsors,” I said.
“Yeah, and all the support he receives on his posts makes it even more inspiring. I think we can rally a heavy campaign behind him to get him to the next tournament,” Amaya said.
“Which after Chicago, that would be the Miami tournament,” I said.
The room fell into silence. It seemed like lately, our focus wasn’t on the Miami tournament but instead on making sure we were all in a healthy headspace and capable of having impressive displays at the major tournaments. I forgot that a major goal for us was Miami.
“Let’s see how well we do this weekend,” Amaya said.
I remember waking up and getting ready for the Saturday tournament as if I was getting ready for school. Instead of filling a backpack with books and school folders, I had snacks and a few controllers (what if one started malfunctioning on me mid-match).
Wyatt was staying at Darren’s house to watch the tournament from the game room. Darren picked me up and drove us to Amaya’s house, where we could take the train to the convention center. The three of us walked in and registered together, but as soon as we made it through the long line and the tables, Amaya had to go to the signing booth to get her autographs going beforehand.
Darren and I were stationed on side A, and Amaya was on side B. When I looked at the bracket and compared it to Darren’s, my heart sank. Darren and I would have to play each other if we kept winning, and unfortunately, it was a point where both of us were used to attaining.
My legs were bouncing whenever we sat down, and I practically jogged to all of my game stations. I always arrived 10 minutes early, and I was taking no prisoners. The day was flying by. After lunch with Amaya and Darren, it was time to determine who would make it to the top 32 from the top 64.
Darren and I were up next.
Of all the other matchups happening simultaneously, ours had the smallest turnout of fans. It didn’t bother me, though. All of the other famous players that routinely made the top 16 were hogging up all of the audience. In the convention center, I could see clumps of people gathering together at different stations to watch the famous players.
“I have to be honest, Gordie, I’m glad that not many people are watching our match,” Darren said while the two of us plugged in our controllers at the station.
Both of us were going through the motions reluctantly with stoic expressions. I couldn’t frown because I was ecstatic to be in the top 64, but I couldn’t smile either because I wanted Darren to advance, at least to double elimination. He deserved an opportunity at that.
“Yeah, it would make me more nervous,” I said.
“I don’t know how Amaya or any of them do it all the time. I guess you get used to it.” Darren gazed over in the direction of a massive crowd of people watching 75K’s match.
“Something like that.”
“Are both of you guys ready? We can start a few minutes early if you’d like,” the moderator said.
Darren grinned at me. “Yeah, we’re about ready.” Darren scanned me over one last time. “You good? You look a little sad?”
“Of course I’m sad, I don’t wanna play against you.”
“Well, I don’t want to play against you either, but here we are. Just don’t think this will be like a repeat of the other night.” Darren reached out his lanky arm and gave me a few pats on the shoulder.
I cracked a half-assed smile and blew out a sigh, but I was planning for it to be a repeat of the other night. He chose Aqua-Axe. He wasn’t playing around; he knew that was his best shot at winning all three games. I chose Golden-Bow.
It was a casual match as if we were two old people in a retirement home playing for fun. We were executing solid blocks, no obnoxious high count combos, and our health bars went down at an even pace. No killer instinct was unleashed until the very end when I saw an opportunity to capitalize on a well-defended block and shot off an array of arrows.
“Game one, GordieHoward!” the moderator announced.
Darren’s smile fell off his face and replaced it with a heavy frown complemented with eyebrows pursing together. Something about his glare at the screen sent a shiver through my bones. The next game fired up, and the battle didn’t feel so friendly anymore. It was like a moment in a friendly spar where a friend gets accidentally hurt. They say it’s ‘all good,’ but then they come at their friend thrice as hard.
“Game two, TruthOrDarren.”
The few who watched the second game clapped together with the same energy as a bored classroom.
“Good game,” I said, but Darren didn’t respond, or if he did, he said something too quiet.
I was channeled in. Before the start, I pressed my hands against my pants and wiped off the layer of sweat that had accumulated from the last battle. I leaned in closer and squinted my eyes like fine-tuning a massive camera lens to get the proper object in focus. We traded combo for combo. No defense existed, just an endless onslaught of attacks evenly distributed. The health bars drained at the same rate. Whoever could sneak in an extra hit would advance, no matter how minor the attack. I landed an additional light arrow through a hurricane of slashes.
“Game three, GordieHoward!” the moderator shouted, and the thirty people that watched the match stood up and applauded, but it still lacked the energy and excitement from the other crowds. I was willing to bet we had a more engaging and exciting match.
“Good game, Gordie,” Darren said, pivoting towards me and giving my hand a firm shake. He drew in a resonating inhale through his mouth as if trying to defend against crying.
I yanked him in for a hug and whispered, “We should have played in the finals or something.”
“Give the rest of ‘em hell,” he replied, rubbing my back in a circular motion.
“I can’t believe it, man. I’m about to be in the top 32, double elimination, baby!”
“I believe it,” Darren said and released himself from the hug after a back pat that sounded like a bass drum.
We packed up our controllers, our scores were reported, and then we meandered to Amaya’s match against some player I had never heard of, but they were already shaking hands, and some media personality started interviewing Amaya right on the spot. I looked at who I would be facing in the next round, and my heart plummeted like a free-fall elevator. My next opponent was going to be 75K.