His avatar bleeds out on the pavement, a red icon flashing insistently.
I blink at the screen, realizing I’ve been staring at the same corner of rubble for at least a full minute.
“Bro!” Luke smacks my shoulder with the back of his hand. “Revive me!”
I jolt, the controller slipping slightly in my grip. “Shit, yeah—sorry.”
My thumb drags across the joystick, maneuvering my character toward his. On-screen, I crouch beside his downed body and hold the revive button.
“Dude,” Luke mutters, eyes narrowing at me even as the progress bar fills. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I’m fine,” I grumble, taking another swallow of the bitter beer. It tastes worse the second time.
My character finishes reviving his, and Luke’s soldier pops back up, immediately sprinting toward more gunfire like he has something to prove. I stare numbly at the screen as I shoot randomly across the war zone, striking nothing but buildings and trees.
We lose the match in a blaze of gunfire and some twelve-year-old on the other team teabagging Luke’s character while cackling through his headset. The screen flashes DEFEAT in bold red letters.
“Unbelievable,” Luke mutters, yanking off his headphones and tossing them onto the coffee table. “Absolute garbage matchmaking.”
I take another sip of my beer.
Luke turns to look at me fully, one arm slung across the back of the couch. “Okay. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” I say automatically, eyes still on the TV.
“Don’t give me that.” He nudges my knee with his. “You’ve been useless for the last three matches. You’ve barely gotten any kills.”
“I got two this round,” I mutter.
“Yeah, and I got thirteen.” He studies my face for a second longer. “Seriously. What’s going on?”
I huff out a breath. “It’s just… Mom and Dad meeting Troy didn’t go well.”
Luke snorts softly. “Yeah. I know.”
My head snaps toward him. “You do?”
He reaches for his beer, takes a long swallow, and nods. “Mom called me immediately after.”
Of course she did. Just like the rest of this goddamn town, she can’t keep anything to herself. News travels faster than a Midwest snowstorm around here.
I stare down at the stained patch of carpet near my boots, jaw tight.
Luke scratches his stubble. “I mean… I was surprised to hear Troy’s bi,” he admits. “But it’s not a total shock. He’s from Chicago, after all. They’re a lot more—” He pauses, waving his hand vaguely. “Y’know. Liberal. Over there.”
I bite the inside of my lip, tasting copper.
Luke keeps going. “She tried asking if I thought you might be like that too. Since you two have been hanging out all the time.”
My shoulders lock up.
“But I told her there was no way,” he says quickly. “I mean, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I echo flatly.
He leans back into the couch. “Anyway, it’s not a big deal. They’ll get over it.” He shrugs. “They’re just old-fashioned and don’t like the idea of you being friends with someone like that.”
I raise an eyebrow, finally looking at him. “Don’t you feel the same way as them?”
