Page 71 of Break Points and Face Offs

“Your favorite arcade game?”

I shrug.

“What did you like to play when you were a kid? Speed Racer? Pacman?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been to an arcade.”

He looks at me like I’ve just told him I’ve never read a book, or been in a car, or been skiing.

“You’ve never stepped foot inside an arcade?”

I shake my head. Will grins in a way that makes my insides turn to mush.

He drags me by the arm from one machine to the other until he finds what he’s looking for.

“You’ve played foosball, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well this is like that, but make it ice hockey-ish.”

“I’ve seen one of these before.”

“Okay, good. You’re not an actual alien then.”

The machine starts up and Will bats his little disc around the way he’d handled a puck that day at the ice rink.

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod.

The disc comes at me slowly and I bat it back with no trouble. He bats it back. This time, I let my competitive side take over. I may have never played this particular game before, but the rules are painfully simple and I do have good hand-eye coordination.

Neither of us manages to get the disc into one of those slots either side of the machine for the first few minutes of play. We’re defending our little slot with everything we have. That familiar desire to win surfaces and takes over. The game is actually closer to table tennis than ice hockey—maybe he mentioned hockey to throw me off?

Will hits the disc off one of the side walls and catches me off guard. The disc slips in behind my defending paddle and makes an annoying sound.

I catch the triumph in Will’s eyes and recognize it from times when I’ve won something. I’ve never beaten Will at anything when we’re even remotely equally matched. Tennis doesn’t count, seeing as he’d never played before that day and I’ve been playing since I was a child.

Right, time to do it now.

Using Will’s tactics, I hit the disc off a side wall, but he counterattacks and sends it flying back. The disc goes into my slot again.

It takes everything inside me not to toss my paddle onto the table and throw a tantrum. But I’m better than that. I’ve practiced good sportsmanship over the years—not that I had to practice being a gracious loser often.

I focus. Crouch into position. Ignore Will’s grin at the other side of the table.

I send the disc flying straight down the middle. He isn’t expecting it. It flies straight past his paddle and into the slot.

The feeling of victory is euphoric. I throw my hands up and celebrate. Point and laugh, jump up and down.

“What happened to good sportsmanship?” Will asks.

“Screw good sportsmanship, I got the thing in your thingie!”

He laughs. His eyes sparkling under the artificial lights.

“You’re still down 2-1. Are we still playing or⁠—”