I sat in my older brother Michael’s room, staring at his TV screen with a silent rage that made me drop my prized, orange “ENcontrol” controller. It stared back at me from the ground, lifeless.

The character, Golden-Bow, my brother’s favorite, was celebrating on the screen, practically rubbing my nose in the virtual dirt. My poor Soul-Steel, stood in the background of the stat display, leaning on his sword planted in the ground with his right hand, shaking his head from side to side.

Agreed, Soul-Steel, agreed.

“One more?” Michael asked.

I took a deep breath. “Dude, that’s like fifteen games I’ve lost in a row for tonight.”

“C’mon, one more?” Michael said in his congested voice, turning away to cough into his arm.

“Is this even challenging for you?”

He sniffled and nodded. “Yeah, you’re way better than the computer; I’ve told you that.”

“Yeah, but in the years of us playing this game, I’ve never beat you.”

Michael smirked. “Getting tired of it?”

“Why can’t we do a team battle for once?”

“Because there’s no way you’ll improve if you’re always playing the shitty bots.”

“Just once, please?”

Michael bobbed his head and thought about it. “All right, I suppose we can do a team battle. The practice couldn’t hurt.”

“Boys!” our mom called from the other room; her voice was muffled by the door.

“Yeah, Mom?” Michael paused.

“Are you two still playing that Elite Fighters?”

“It’s called Elite Crushers, have some respect for the most popular fighting game in the world, Ma.” Michael snickered.

Our mom burst through the door, scowling. “Michael, just because you get straight A’s and stay out of trouble, that doesn’t give you the right to give me that tone. You still have to show me some respect.”

I silently cheered in my head, hoping my mom would take a few more digs at him. Not that I wanted to see Michael get in serious trouble, but it was nice to see the flawless child get some flak for once.

“I told you not to be up past 10:30. Do you have any idea what time it is right now?”

“Oh man,” Michael uttered as he checked the time, “I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t know it was 11:00 already.”

“Can’t you see that there is a lot wrong with this picture? You’re staying up way past your bedtime while you’re sick, and you’re setting a bad example to your young brother, who needs to work a little harder for school.” She fixed her glare on me. “Gordie, did you study tonight?”

“Yes.”

“For two hours?” My mom analyzed my face over her glasses.

“Yes, I did. After I finished, I started practicing with Michael.”

“All right, well then there’s no excuse to have C’s and B’s if you study so much. I better see some improvement on the next report card. Otherwise, no more ‘practicing.’”

“I’ll improve, I promise.”

“Sorry, mom, for staying up so late, we’re just really excited for this weekend’s tournament, and we’re trying to get as much training as possible,” Michael said.

“Training.” Our mom chuckled. “You especially need to go to bed early if you want to kick that cold in time for the tournament.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Again, our apologies. The time slipped away. We’ll go to bed now.” Michael coughed a few times into his arm.

Our mom frowned. “All right, you better go to sleep. Goodnight, boys. Love you both. I’m not hugging you, Michael, because I don’t want to catch your cold, and since I don’t want to show any favoritism, Gordie, I will not give you a hug either.”

“That’s fine, mom.” I smiled.

She blew us each a kiss and closed the door. I wrapped up my controller and put it away on the TV stand. Michael turned off the holy, bright red Arakan Sphere game system.

“So, do you think you really have a shot at this thing? I feel like this is the best you’ve ever played,” I said.

“Well, Gordie, I’d like to think I do, but you never know. The top players in the world are in their own league. Literally, they have that special 8-team tournament thing they do in Miami.”

“Yeah, but you had a decent run two years ago. You were in the top 64 out of like 4,000 people around the world. That’s amazing.”

“Maybe the competition got better, though. But, man, ain’t that the dream? If you and I could be on a team for the Miami Tournament? That would be in––.” Michael was interrupted by a coughing frenzy that sounded like a monster’s curdling roar. “Anyways –as I was saying– that would be incredible. But ugh, do you hear me?” his voice was hoarse. “What if I’m not healthy for the tournament? I definitely won’t make it to the top 8, let alone the top 64 again.”

“I’ll be praying for your recovery. And if you’re worried about the competition getting better, don’t. You’ve also improved. And don’t forget, you were like, the youngest person in the top 64.”

“I missed last year’s tourney, so I’m feeling a little overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, but—” I forgot my brother couldn’t go last year because he was too sick. “I don’t know; I think you’re being too modest. I think you’ll do pretty good this year. You might even get a sponsor.”

Michael chuckled. “I don’t know about all that. But I think we could have a chance in the doubles bracket on Sunday. You’re not too shabby yourself.”

“Man, I can’t wait. This must be like when sports fans get excited for the Super Bowl.”

“Ha, I know what you mean.”

“Are there a lot of girls that go there? I mean, I imagine it’s a lot of dudes, but might I be surprised by how many girls attend?”

“C’mon, man, you’re fourteen. Don’t be thinking about girls until you’re at least 18, like me. Besides, we should go to bed. Mom’s right. I need to kick this cold; you need to do better in school, and that starts with a good night’s rest.”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about me. I’m just fine. It’s you we gotta worry about. You have a chance to make some money at this tourney.”

“We’ll see. We have a better chance in doubles.” He winked. “Goodnight, Gordie.”

We gave each other a fist bump.

“Goodnight, Mike.”

The school week dragged on forever. It usually did, but this one was prolonged. Thoughts of the tournament filled every waking moment. No matter what sense was affected: the buffet of the school cafeteria, the excellent indie music in Michael’s beat-up car, or the taste of dad’s famous lasagna, all I could think about was the week being over. On Saturday, I’d be at one of the largest gaming tournaments in the world.

Who would have thought that the tourney would take place in Chicago, just an hour outside my hometown?

During my homework time, I fantasized about losing in an early-round and cheering for Michael to win in the finals. Then later in the weekend, we’d have a crack at the doubles bracket, and he’d carry us to the finals again. I started to imagine what we’d do with the prize money.

My brother would win his $50,000 from the singles bracket, and then we’d win $50,000 from the doubles bracket. Knowing him, he’d give me half, even though it would be because of his effort.

Wow. $25,000 in my pocket. What would I even do with that money? I could buy every game for the Arakan Game Sphere if I wanted.

After I finished up my homework, Michael and I spent the rest of the evening playing Elite Crushers. Michael invited his friend over one night to join us, Lawrence. He was also eighteen, like my brother.

“Damn you guys! None of y’all are any fun. I can’t even beat your baby brother,” Lawrence said as I cringed at the words “baby brother.”

“You play with fire, you get burned.” Michael coughed out.

“Mike-man, you gonna be all right for the tournament?”

“Yeah, if I’m still sick, my mom said I could take Friday off school to rest. But only under one condition, as long as I use all my prize money for college,” Michael said.

“Forget that. I’m sure you’ll get a full-ride scholarship somewhere.”

“Ha, maybe. If I get a scholarship, that prize money will go straight to a new car and gaming.”

“Be a good brother and give Gordie some dough for college.” Lawrence winked at me.

Michael chuckled between blowing his nose. “Don’t worry, I’ll hook him up. I wouldn’t be nearly as good as I am at this game if it wasn’t for him.”

Dammit. I thought to myself, why did Michael have to be such a good guy?

A weird part of me wanted to resent him for being the star child of our family. He was top of his class, had a 4.0, had good friends, hung in the semi-popular crowd, and was the better-looking one among us (I know that sounds subjective, but trust me, it’s objective). Still, I just couldn’t bring myself to dislike him.

We kept playing through the rest of the night, I continued to beat Lawrence, and my brother obliterated him.

“I don’t know why I’m paying $200 just to get waxed by one of you two eventually,” Lawrence said.

“C’mon, it’s a really fun time, even if you lose. There is a lot to do, and it’s cool watching all the other amazing players. At least it’s entertaining for me. To be great at this game is an art form,” Michael said.

“Mike, you’re the most humble guy I know, but that sounded pretentious as all hell.” Lawrence cracked up.

“I’m not saying that I’ve mastered the art. Those other guys like Knyghtmare, Smith, 75K, Zlugburn, Tolz3r, and Clover Leef are amazing. They do things with the game I’ve never seen. When I played against Knyghtmare two years ago, I got torched.”

“You’ve gotten way better, though. I’ve seen those guys play, and you remind me of them. I think you have a chance to give them some trouble,” Lawrence said.

My brother rolled his eyes, but I agreed with Lawrence. Michael was wicked at the game. He could move his fingers faster than the speed of sound and mash button combos perfectly like his hands were robotic fingers on an assembly line. Meanwhile, it felt like I was rubbing two sticks together whenever I played.

Friday morning, I woke up to the sound of my brother hacking up a lung from his bedroom.

“Michael! You’re not going to school in that shape. You almost sound worse!” my mom yelled from downstairs.

I crept out of bed and trudged down the hallway, directly into Michael’s room. “You’ve been training for two years for this tourney. You gotta get better, man.”

“You act as if I can control this.” Michael’s voice was worn and dry.

“You can definitely help it. Just get a lot of rest today, man. I gotta get ready.”

Michael stayed home, and my mom drove me to school on her way to work.

“And don’t you hang out with your brother when you get home. You can’t get sick too,” my mom said.

“Ma, I’m sure it’s fine.”

My mom sighed. “If he’s contagious, I don’t want you getting sick. So don’t bother him or go into his room!”

I gulped and nodded, although I had an hour to practice with Michael before my mom would get home after school. I had to squeeze in that extra time. It was worth the risk of getting sick.