Page 111 of Shift Change

After we finished most of the food, the room morphed into a war zone. Controllers were passed around, trash talking kicked into high gear, and theFortnitetournament we’d been nursing for months resumed in full force.

A few months back, Chuck and I had decided it would be fun to play on opposite teams, but I was still a little sad when Gabe declared the teams needed to sit together, and Chuck had to join the scrubs on the other side of the room.

I passed around more beer and surveyed the chaos. The basement looked like a frat house had exploded. Half the guys were sprawled across couches, balancing plates of food on their stomachs; the rest had claimed spots on the floor, surrounded by empty Dorito bags, greasy napkins, and a growing collection of crushed beer cans.

Chuck noticed the mess too. Shaking his head, he got up and made the rounds with two garbage bags, one for trash and one for cans, chirping guys the whole way. “Slobs,” he said as he stepped over Gabe’s outstretched legs and flipped an empty Red Bull can into his bag without breaking stride.

The battle began as soon as we sat back down. We all focused initially, but it didn’t take long for the cursing to begin.

“Fuck you, Logan,” Riley shouted. “If you box me in and set me on fire one more time, I’m rage-quitting.”

“That’s called tactics, sweetheart,” Logan said, grinning as his avatar launched himself across the screen with a grappling hook. “Try it sometime.”

“Shut up,” Abby said. “You sound like old married couple. People think you are fucking.”

“No way,” I yelled. “I’ve seen what Riley gets up to with the ladies.”

“No more than you used to,” he snapped. I glanced over, and he was shooting me a wicked grin. “You don’t want me telling your secrets, Holky.”

Chuck was sitting next to Riley. “Go ahead. I want to hear all about it.”

“Just play, guys,” Gabe said. “Gossip on your own time.”

For another moment, we paid attention to what we were doing, but soon Logan and Riley were trading jabs again.

Packy snorted. “You play like a narc, Holky. Who even builds in this game anymore?”

“I do,” Logan said, in the middle of erecting a three-story panic tower. “And it works.”

“Oh my God, he trapped me in a porta-potty,” Brody groaned. “He’s spawn-camping the damn bathroom.”

“That’s not spawn-camping, Brodes,” Gabe said through a mouthful of chips. “It’s strategic lavatory control.”

“Shut up,” Brody muttered. “You’re the one who impulse-grenaded me off a cliff last round.”

“I regret nothing.”

Abby cackled as he gunned down Gabe’s character with a gold shotgun. “Sorry, old man.”

“I was trying to change my loadout!” Gabe cried. “Why is the D-pad made for people with toddler thumbs?”

“You are mad because I kill you,” Abby said, flexing like he’d scored a playoff goal.

“Don’t celebrate too hard,” I told him, half-watching the screen as I built a ramp into the stratosphere. “You left your back door open, dumbass.”

“Whose back door is open?” Chuck yelled, sparking several snide laughs.

Abby turned too late, and I sniped him mid-dance.

“You rat.” He tossed a couch cushion at my head. “Idi na khuy.”

“What?” I asked. “I don’t speak Russian.”

Abby glared at me. “Is best way to say ‘fuck you.’”

Nobody laughs like drunk hockey players, and when the noise quieted, Chuck looked around Riley so he could see me. “You’re so proud of that shot, but you built a ramp to nowhere like you’re trying to enter low Earth orbit.”

“The view from on top’s the best,” I said. “Plus, I don’t want to hear it from the guy who fell off the map last game.”

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