Tournament Trouble

by Sylv Chiang

  “I got lucky and Roy ‘lost’ Mr. E’s message.” I make little finger quotes next to my head.

  “That’s cool.” Devesh punches me in the shoulder.

  “What do you think happened when he called Ty and Flash’s places?” Hugh asks.

  “Good question.”

  We spend the morning looking over our shoulders for them. By the time we get to math, it’s clear we can stop looking.

  “You think they’re skipping?” Devesh asks.

  “Maybe they got suspended.”

  “We could ask Mr. E . . .,” I start. “Actually, I’m gonna stay off his radar today.”

  By the afternoon the heat makes the second floor of Layton unbearable. Most teachers have the classroom windows open wide, but in Mr. Efram’s class, that’s not an option. The room only has two high windows. One is boarded up where a foul ball broke the glass earlier in the year, and the other window’s handle is rusted shut. Mr. Efram is melted into his desk chair, the class’s only fan directed straight at him. Instead of concentrating on the problem of the day, we spend the period doing our own math—calculating ways to spend two thousand bucks.

  “You could buy, like, every game out there,” Devesh says.

  “Who cares about games, dude, you could get a whole new system and probably your own computer too.” Hugh’s arms wave wildly around his head.

  “Oh, and make sure you get a phone.” Devesh puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’s about time.”

  Hugh nods.

  “Maybe I’ll buy an air conditioner for this room.”

  “Or . . .” Hugh’s eyes go wide. “You could get a monkey. That would be awesome.”

  I laugh. “What am I supposed to do with a monkey? Anyway, I might not even get there, let alone win.” Besides, I’ve already decided what I’ll buy if I win the tournament.

  At the end of class Mr. Efram stops me at the door. “Your mom never returned my call yesterday.”

  “Oh, you called?” is all I can think to say.

  “Yes, I told you I would. I left a message with someone at your mom’s work. I guess I’ll try your dad at lunch.”

  “Okay,” I mumble and slink out the door.

  When I get to the diner after school, I know Mr. Efram got through. It’s only 3:45, but Dad is sitting in a booth by the window in his suit and tie. He’s never finished work this early, so I must be in serious trouble. Mom’s sitting across from him spinning her bracelet. Her name tag is on the table.

  At the back of the diner, Roy peeks through the kitchen opening at me, wringing a dishcloth like a nervous old lady.

  I walk over to my parents, ready to receive the touch of death. As usual, Mom does all the talking, but in English because Dad’s here.

  “Your teacher called.”

  “I told you yesterday. Nothing happened.”

  She looks so small sitting in the big booth across from Dad. Then she lets out an angry-bull breath and I wish I could back dash right out of the diner. “He said there is no more tutoring. Why you say you have tutoring Saturday?”

  Oh crap. “I . . . um . . . thought there was still?”

  “Well, we find out soon. I told your teacher we meet him today.”

  Chapter 16

  Five minutes later I slide across the hot leather seats in the back of our car, earbuds in place even though the batteries in my MP3 player are dead. I really don’t want the lecture.

  Dad drives while Mom fidgets with her bracelet. She’s turning it back and forth so fast it’s like she’s trying to force good luck out of the thing.

  At a traffic light, Dad puts his hand on hers. “Let’s just go and hear what the teacher has to say.”

  “Sorry. I can’t help thinking of Li Yun.”

  Li Yun. Is that her brother who died?

  A few minutes later, we all walk silently into the school. Mr. Efram ushers us into an empty, air-conditioned conference room. “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you for meeting with us, sir,” Mom says as everyone sits down around the table.

  “No problem, but you really didn’t have to come down here. I only called to make sure you were aware of the incident that took place yesterday. Did Jaden tell you what happened?”

  “He only say there was a fight but nothing happen. How can a fight be nothing? It sound like something to me.” Mom takes a deep breath, and Dad puts his hand on hers again.

  “What my wife is trying to say is that Jaden is a twelve-year-old boy, so we only got the bare bones of the story.” He chuckles.

  “Well, let me fill you in then.” Mr. Efram explains what he saw in the boys’ bathroom. Just like Hugh’s dad, he finishes with, “I only wish Jaden had told me earlier about the problems he was having with these other boys. Perhaps I could have intervened before things got ugly.”

  “So, Jaden was not fighting?” Mom asks.

  “On the contrary, he was the peacekeeper.”

  “Oh, that is good. I was so worried. You know, he play terrible video game and I think maybe he get idea . . .”

  “Yes. Jaden told us he entered the Top Tiers Tournament this weekend. That’s exciting.”

  A tapping sound starts up. It takes me a second to realize it’s my thumbs.

  “What tournament?” Mom looks back and forth between my teacher and me. “Is that why you lied about tutoring Saturday?”

  I look down and try to control my thumbs.

  Mr. Efram clears his throat. “Uh-oh. Have I opened a can of worms here?”

  “Seems so.” Dad leans forward.

  After a long pause, Mom speaks. “Jaden is not allowed playing those games. I catch him playing a fighting game and now he is grounded.”

  “Oh . . . I see.” Mr. Efram looks at Dad.

  My thumbs are out of my control.

  “My wife is quite worried that violence in video games can lead to violent behavior.”

  “Well, I would have to say, based on yesterday’s incident, that doesn’t seem to be the case with your son.”

  I peek up.

  Mr. Efram gives me a wink. “I’ve done a lot of research into how boys learn, and video game violence comes up quite a bit in the literature. It seems there has to be a predisposition toward violence in order for there to be any real effect from playing the games. Jaden is clearly not a violent kid, otherwise he would have taken a swing at those bullies yesterday.”

  Is Mr. Efram actually defending me?

  “Mr. Efram makes a good point, Linda,” Dad says.

  “To be honest, I think a video game tournament would be a great experience for Jaden. You know, he doesn’t participate in any extra-curricular activities here at school. It would be good for him to get out there and compete at something he likes.”

  What? Did he actually just say they should let me go?

  “This is not basketball or soccer,” Mom says. “In these games he beat up others and”—her voice drops to a whisper—“sometimes I think he kill them.”

  I jam my lips together to squash a smile.

  “I’m sure he does,” Mr. Efram says. “That’s kind of the point of the game. But Jaden’s smart enough to make the distinction between reality and fiction. It’s not Jaden performing those actions, it’s a character he’s playing. Heck, I play video games. I don’t have a violent bone in my body, ma’am, but I sure do love to beat up an ogre on screen. I don’t think you need to worry about Jaden. He’s a good kid. That said, you are the parents and you must decide what you think is best for him.” Mr. Efram gets up.

  My parents do the same. They shake his hand, and we head out of the school.

  Chapter 17

  That meeting with Mr. Efram was a total cross up. Who would have expected a teacher to tell my parents I should play video games? It’s like we’ve entered another dimension. Even the drive home feels
different; for once, it’s Dad who does the talking.

  “So, what’s this competition your teacher was talking about?” he asks as we pull out of the parking lot.

  “It’s just this tournament where people compete at this game.”

  “What game is that?”

  I pause. What difference does it make anymore? “It’s called Cross Ups IV.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dad looks at Mom. She’s staring out the window, calmly turning the green bracelet on her wrist. She doesn’t seem to be listening. “So, how do you play Cross Ups IV? What’s the goal?”

  “You just try to win battles.”

  “And how do you do that?”

  “You have to know all the different combos.”

  “Combos, eh?” We’re at a red light now. Dad turns around to look at me. “So, how often do you win these battles?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “Really?” He raises his eyebrows. “How’d you get so good?”

  I shrug and look down at my MP3 player.

  “Never mind.” Dad shakes his head and turns frontward again. “Stupid question.” The light turns green. “So tell me, son, why’d you sign up for this tournament when you know you’re not allowed to go?”

  “I dunno. This guy challenged me.”

  Dad glances at Mom again and we drive along in silence for a while. Just as I’m about to put my earbuds back in, Dad asks, “How does all this relate to the problem with these boys from your math class?”

  “It doesn’t. Those guys just hate us for some reason.”

  Dad is quiet for a bit. Then he says, “You’ve obviously got a lot going on with these guys from school bugging you and Cali leaving. Just let us know how we can help you.”

  Might as well try. “You could let me go to the tournament.”

  Dad chuckles. “Well played. But I don’t think your mom’s gonna go for that.”

  We both look at Mom again. Still no angry bull. She’s just looking out the car window, like she’s staring into another world.

  Dad pulls up in front of the diner. After Mom gets out and closes her door, I give it one last try. “Mr. Efram’s a teacher and he thinks I should go.”

  Dad turns again to face me. “I know. But your mom feels very strongly about protecting you from this stuff.”

  “I’m not a little kid. I don’t need to be protected.”

  “Just give her some time. I think she’s starting to see that.”

  If only I had time. The tournament is in two days.

  “That’s cool that your teacher said you should go.”

  The air conditioner’s not on at Cali’s place, so it’s pretty toasty up in her room. We’re sitting leaning against her blue bedroom wall. A fan points straight at us, fluttering the edge of her blue bedsheet. We’ve been here for half an hour, but the suitcase on the bed is still empty.

  “I never saw it coming. If only my mom agreed. It would have been amazing.”

  “Still no sign that she’s going to let you go?”

  “Nah. She’s still mad at me. Anyway, whenever I talk to her lately, it’s like she doesn’t understand me. And it’s not just because I’m speaking English.”

  “That’s because you’ve been lying. You probably didn’t make any sense because you were trying to keep track of what you said so you wouldn’t get caught.”

  I wish Cali wasn’t right.

  She goes on. “At least now the lie is out in the open. You can start fresh.”

  Like it’s that easy. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not so good at saying the right thing. I’ll probably just make it worse.”

  “There’s only one thing to say.”

  I stare at her, blankly.

  “Apologize.”

  I don’t want to talk about this anymore. “Don’t you think you should start putting some stuff in there?” I point to the suitcase.

  “Yeah . . . No . . . I don’t know.” She drops her head to her chest. “Maybe I’ll just pack tomorrow. I don’t know what to bring. It’s too hot to think.”

  We sit awhile in silence. Cali’s room doesn’t look like you’d expect a girl’s room to look. There are no pink butterflies or flowers. Everything is blue except the white furniture.

  There’s a photo of Cali and her mom on the dresser. They’re wearing red Chinese dresses and smiles wider than the happy Buddha in the background. With their faces pressed together, it’s only the proud look in Mrs. Chen’s eyes that shows she’s Cali’s mother and not her sister. That’s how I picture Cali’s mom—not the person they took out of here on a stretcher.

  There’s a poster of Captain Marvel and one of Hermione from Harry Potter, but I don’t see any pictures of Mr. Chen in the room. “It feels like your dad’s been in Montreal forever. When’s the last time you saw him?”

  “Last summer, for a week. At Christmas he sends a present. Last year he got me that bear.” She points to a worn stuffed animal by her pillow.

  “Man, that’s gonna be weird, going to live with him—even weirder than living with us.”

  “It’s not weird living with you guys. It’s like my second home.”

  “Yeah, but rooming with Melanie . . .”

  “She’s nice, J. She’s been doing stuff like braiding my hair and lending me clothes. Your whole family is nice. Your mom changed her work schedule a bunch of times to take me to the hospital. She’s been treating me like I’m one of her kids. She makes my lunch and even puts little notes inside in Chinese. I’m not sure exactly what they say, but today I recognized the character ai, for love. Your place feels more like a home than I’ve had in a while.”

  I think of the embarrassing notes I toss out of my lunch every day.

  We sit staring into space. A drop of sweat runs down my back and I break the silence. “You know the best thing about my place?”

  “What?”

  “It has air conditioning . . .”

  The next morning when I get to my locker, Devesh sing-songs, “They’re ba-ack.”

  I sigh as I twist the dial to open my lock. “So, were they suspended?”

  “They’re not saying,” Hugh says. “But I’m pretty sure. Listen, we wanted to warn you. I don’t think you’re going to like this . . .”

  I turn to look at my friends. “I’m not going to like what?”

  Hugh tries to get Devesh to meet his wide-eyed stare, but Devesh puts his hand to his chin and looks away.

  This can’t be good. “What?”

  Hugh gives up and starts rambling. “Well, I guess this doesn’t count as bullying in the school rules. In fact, Mr. E might even think they’re trying to be nice—”

  “What are you talking about?” My voice must be loud because some kids in the hall turn to look at us.

  The captain of the basketball team, who has never said a word to me before, walks by and gives me a double thumbs-up. “Rip ’em up, JStar.”

  “This is the worst warning ever. I have no idea what you guys are trying to tell me. Wait . . .” I whip my head around to follow the popular boy’s path. “Did Holden just call me JStar?”

  Devesh presses his lips together and inhales deeply through his nose. Without making eye contact, he puts his arm on my shoulder and turns me around. Hanging from the banister of the second-floor railing is a white bedsheet painted to look like a banner. My name is printed in huge letters, along with an invitation to watch me play at T3.

  “What the . . . No . . . Oh, come on!” I imagine the entire school watching me compete.

  “I know.” Hugh puts his hand on my other shoulder. “Someone must have helped them. I mean, it’s way too neat and there are no mistakes—even the website address is right.”

  Just my luck.

  Suddenly, there’s a lot of hype around me. Kids I’ve never talked to start coming up to me in the
halls. They ask questions like, “What character do you play?” and, “What’s your best combo?” There are a surprising number of gamers at Layton and they’re all rooting for me, which would be great if I was actually going to the tournament.

  Not everyone is so supportive. I turn a corner and hear, “Have fun fighting the big, scary monsters tomorrow. I hope the boogeyman doesn’t get you,” or, “So, you think you’re a star, JStar?” These guys are going to be brutal when they find out I can’t compete because my mom won’t let me play the game.

  I’d rather take a real live infinite attack than face these guys on Monday morning. I wish I could move to Montreal with Cali.

  Chapter 18

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  We enter Mr. Efram’s room to the sound of him pounding on the rusty window latch. He can just reach the latch by balancing on a pile of math texts on a chair. It’s another sweltering day, and the math class feels like the inside of one of Kaigo’s fireballs. Mr. Efram’s light blue shirt is blotchy with dark patches down the back.

  “Wow, he’s dripping,” Devesh whispers as we take our seats.

  Hugh mops his forehead. “This is the hottest room in the school.”

  I point with my chin toward Flash. He’s deflated on his desk, head resting on folded arms. Above the lightning bolt on the left side of his head is a huge bulge that looks like a rain cloud. “Looks like Hughie’s the only one who left a mark the other day in the bathroom.”

  “That was the toilet bowl, not Hughie,” Devesh says.

  Ty struts over to me. “You like our banner, JStar?”

  “Whatever.”

  Bam! Bam! Mr. Efram is totally punishing the rusty handle. “Come on, just open already!”

  Ty says, “Now the whole school is going to watch you play. No pressure.”

  “So the whole school can see how good he is,” Hugh snaps.

  “Or watch him choke.” Ty puts his hands to his neck and makes a gagging noise.

  “Nah, he’s way better than your volleyball team,” Devesh says.