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I happened to pass by the clock at my desk and registered the time— nine past six. I had to rush to get ready so I could meet Emma on time. I pulled a Team Solid hoodie over my shirt, grabbed my keys, patted my phone in the back pocket of my jeans, and headed out without a second thought.
Even after losing track of time, I arrived at the café a few minutes early. It was already quite busy but I found a table near the back and sat down to wait for her. The café looked different earlier in the evening. There were less people for one, and the light from outside still made its way inside. It smelled less too, but not completely clean. It’s like sweat had permanently seeped into the walls at this point. I glanced at the watch on my wrist—she should be here any minute now. I had never coached anyone before so I was a little anxious, but it was the only thing I could do in my current condition. Might as well give it a try.
At least that's what I told myself I was anxious about. In reality I think it might have had something to do with the fact that Emma was a real person; someone with a life outside of gaming. I mean she had a normal job, a normal life, probably some kind of an education, and I found that quite intimidating. I was just a guy who got too good at video games in high school and then got to play them for a living. Lots of luck had played a hand in my success. I wasn’t the smartest cookie on the block and not the strongest or best looking either. The only thing I was good at was pressing buttons on a keyboard and, currently I couldn’t even do that.
When Emma walked in a few minutes later I had to stop overthinking this. I waved her over and she spotted me. As she approached, I scolded myself. Be normal, Alex. Be fucking normal.
“Hi, nice to meet you for real. I’m Emma,” she said and extended her hand for a handshake.
I got out of my chair before reaching to shake her hand. I reached with my left hand and grasped her much smaller but calloused hand in mine. She was taken aback for a second but then she seemed to connect the dots and realize my right hand was, in fact, immobilized in a brace and sling.
“Hey, Emma. Glad you could make it,” I said, motioning for her to sit down. “You can call me Alex.”
As she sat down, an awkward silence stretched between us. She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. “Sorry, it was a long day,” she said and finally rested her hands on the table and looked me in the eyes. Her eyes pinned me down with the same intensity as they had last night, as if she was sizing me up.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I asked, nodding to the bar. “I’m just gonna go grab a coffee.”
“I won’t say no to a Red Bull,” she said with a sigh, the corner of her mouth turning upwards ever so slightly.
I practically bolted out of my seat and to the café bar to order our drinks. As I waited for my coffee to be done, I admired Emma from afar as she scrolled through her phone and then started typing something. A pang of insecurity hit me—was she already complaining to her friends about me? Was I fucking this up already?
I fidgeted with the string of my hoodie, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. What was I thinking? Here I was, a nervous wreck, just trying to talk to her. I needed to get over myself and I had to do it fast. I had to do a double take earlier to make sure, but she was wearing an old NLA hoodie. Probably from the second or third major tournament for the game, if I had to guess. There was a real possibility that she had played NLA for longer thanme. I started playing long after the era of those collectibles was over.
And then there was something about her that I couldn’t put my finger on. She was so angry and out of it last night and she was just as rigid today. There was a tension in her that was apparent if you looked at her for more than a few seconds. She was just intense. She wasn’t either rude or nice; she was forward. It was honestly refreshing, but it also made me nervous because I was not used to people being like this. I can deal with rude, I can deal with nice. I’ve never dealt with this. I paid, grabbed our drinks, and headed back to the table.
“Alright, here’s your Red Bull,” I said as I approached the table. “And I got you a straw. I forgot to ask you if you wanted one so I grabbed it just in case.”
She thanked me, took the straw, and opened her can. That’s when I noticed her nails were painted pastel lilac. I silently cursed myself for not offering to open it for her. If she broke a nail because of me I’d probably cry about it later, I’m not joking.
When I settled back into my chair, I knew it was now or never. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. This is weird. My offer was weird and you think I’m probably crazy,” I started off. “But what I am for sure is injured and I can’t play NLA.”
She interrupted. “But I can?” Her eyebrows were furrowed and her tone was almost mocking.
“Yes and better than I can right now.” I took a deep breath. “Look I’m contractually obligated to stream for four hours every weekday by my organization. Team Solid. You play well and my chat likes the story about meeting you here. They are starved for anything interesting happening.”
To my relief, she still hadn’t run away, so I continued laying out my plan. “Coaching you on stream will be a great way to entertainmy viewers for those four hours a day. The idea is that I will make a bet with my chat that in the month it will take me to recover, I can coach you to get to Challenger. On my first day back I can play some games with you on stream and have, like, a comeback stream.”
“And…” Emma trailed off. Her skepticism was understandable.
“My proposal is this: you join me for some coaching streams and we split all the earnings from each stream you come to fifty-fifty. If you get to Challenger, you get there; if you don’t, you don't. But if you don’t, I will have to part with my lucky charm and auction it off on stream.”
Emma’s forehead was all scrunched up, and she was chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Wait, hold up. I don’t get it.” She shook her head. “So you need someone to just play NLA on your stream, am I getting this right? And you want that person to be me? And you want to pay me to do so?”
“Yes. I’m quickly running out of content to stream. There are only so many tournaments to watch before my viewers get tired of it. The story of meeting you is interesting—everyone is asking about my mystery girl. Someone on Twitter called it a Cinderella story. Plus I like that you aren’t starstruck.”
Emma let out a small chuckle and lifted her eyes to meet mine. “Starstruck? By you? Maybe a little once I realized you were the MnstrX. Everyone and their mother knows your username, I just didn’t recognize your face.” She motioned to her own face and a small smile was tugging at her lips.
I smiled back. It definitely stroked my ego to know she’d known who I was even if she hadn’t recognized me in person.
She narrowed her eyes at me slightly and continued talking. “I’m not going to question a good thing though. If you want to coach me on stream I’ll show up. Free coaching from you and youeven want to pay me? Sign. Me. Up. I could really use any extra money—my job is slowly killing me.”
I didn’t have a single qualm with her doing this for the extra money. She seemed to be a very practical person and I decided I liked that. “What do you do for work then? That it’s killing you?” I asked, half-curious and half trying to just keep the conversation going.
She looked down at the ground. “I stack boxes at a warehouse. It’s the most mind-numbingly boring job on the planet, but it pays the bills.”
The resignation in her voice stirred something in me. Maybe she needed this even more than I did. If playing video games has started ruining my body at twenty six, I didn’t want to think about what stacking heavy boxes was doing to hers.
After discussing what would be expected of her on my stream—play the game, listen to what I’m trying to teach her, talk with me about the game—she seemed pretty happy with that. Emma eventually steered the conversation back to NLA. Her eyes lit up, it was the one thing that seemed to break through her guarded exterior.
