Page 67 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

Ethan grinned. "Come on, Ghost boy. Don’t tell me you’ve never played arcade games before?"

I huffed. “Of course I have. I just—”

Joy gasped dramatically. "Clark. Sweet, nerdy, responsible Clark. Are you… scared to lose?"

I folded my arms. “I’m not scared. I just—”

“HE’S SCARED,” Max announced.

“I AM NOT—”

"Then let's play!"

Before I could protest, Mia dumped a handful of arcade tokens into my hands.

I sighed, staring at them. This was how peer pressure worked, wasn't it?

With that, we split up, diving into different games like overgrown children. The arcade was full of enchanted machines—glowing rune-powered screens, mechanical arms enchanted with minor spirits, and even a VR section that promised to make you "feel the pain of battle." (No thank you.)

Max, naturally, went straight for the punching game. He slammed his fist into the enchanted target so hard that the machine screamed in agony and spit out a record-breaking score.

Shun lazily played a rhythm game, casually landing perfect notes while still scrolling through memes.

Joy, who clearly had no idea how to drive, chose a racing game and promptly crashed into everything.

Mia was playing some creepy horror game, fully immersed while whispering, “This is cinematic gold.”

Ethan… Ethan was waiting. Watching. And then he smirked at me.

I knew that smirk.

He patted the seat of the two-player racing game beside him. "Think you can keep up?"

I scoffed. “Against you? Please.”

His smirk widened. “Alright, Speed Racer. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I sighed just to get over his charm. I slid into the seat, gripping the wheel. The countdown began.

3… 2… 1… GO!

Tires screeched. Engines roared. We sped down neon-lit tracks, weaving through obstacles, dodging incoming attacks, and drifting sharp corners.

Ethan was good. But I was better. He had instincts—raw, reckless, fast. I had calculations.

While he gripped the wheel and hoped for the best, I broke the road down into variables. Acceleration, torque, friction, weight distribution—I could read a car like a formula.He slammed the pedal; I timed the shift. He drifted wide at corners; I clipped the apex like I was born there. Every turn was an equation, every movement a solution. He drove with guts. I drove with precision. He drove like a rebel. I drove like a goddamn physicist. I took every shortcut. Boosted at every perfect moment. And pulled off drifts so smooth they should’ve been illegal.

Joy, Max, and Shun gathered behind us, watching in awe.

"Clark is cracked," Joy whispered.

"Demon boy’s getting left in the dust," Max snickered.

Ethan, determined, clenched his jaw and leaned forward. He was catching up.

But then—

Final lap. One last corner.

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