“Did he throw anything?”
“A glass vase.”
“Did it hit anybody?”
“No, just shattered against the wall.”
“All right. Do you want something to drink?”
“No.”
“Want food?”
“No.”
“Want to talk?”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “No.”
“Want to play?”
“Yeah.”
I grabbed the controllers and turned on my Xbox. The startup sound filled the room, and I handed him his controller. “Halo Wars?”
He blinked at me. “You’re asking?”
I chuckled and started it up. Halo was our go-to, so I supposed I should have known better than to ask.
The screen displayed a menu with soldiers, vehicles, and a bunch of buttons that only made sense once you’d played it. It wasn’t a run-and-gun game; it was about strategy. As players, we had to build a base, gather supplies, and send squads across the map, and if we messed up early on, the game punished us later.
Keaton enjoyed it because he could be aggressive without causing injury to anyone.
I liked it because it was basically about planning with consequences.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m going humans.”
I snorted. “Of course you are.”
He shot me a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re always the humans,” I replied. “You always pick the military side.”
He glared at me. “You’re the real-life military brat.”
“Exactly. So I should be the humans.”
He scoffed. “No chance.”
I tapped through the selection. “Fine. I’ll be on the other side.”
He pointed at the screen. “You’re really picking the villains?”
“It’s not villains,” I argued. “It’s just the aliens.”
He let out a quiet laugh, then nodded at the map selection. “Pick something small. I’m ending this fast.”
“In your dreams, Stafford.”
