Halfway through the car ride back home, Darren and I didn’t say anything. I was the first to break the silence.

“Wow, that was pretty wild. Have you ever seen that happen before?”

“What- you mean how my uncle just went nuclear on Wyatt like that?” Darren shook his head while frowning. “No, I’ve never seen that happen, but I know they’ve gotten in some tussles before, based on what Wyatt has told me. I’m sorry you had to see that, though. I hope you don’t think of him any differently or my family any—”

“Are you kidding me? Believe me, I’m used to it. My mom can be an intense person, or she used to. These past couple of years, not so much. But please, don’t even worry about it.”

“I thought it was a bad look on my uncle’s part.”

“I just don’t understand how Wyatt stayed so calm. He is like the most chill dude I’ve ever met.”

Darren shook his head. “While I agree with you that Wyatt is a really relaxed guy, I’ve definitely seen him angry before. Wyatt used to play hockey, and he was pretty good. He may look lanky and scrawny, but he’s got some tone. He could definitely beat me up.”

I scoffed and laughed. “What are you talking about, you have like 3 inches on Wyatt, and I feel like you’re more built than he is.”

“Maybe, but I used to watch him play hockey. The man was a firecracker on ice. Surprisingly one of the rowdiest players on the team. I’ve seen him deliver big hits on the ice to players larger than him. Among his friends, he was the locker boxing champion.”

“What’s locker boxing?”

“You wear a goalie helmet and hockey gloves, and you box your opponent. When I would hang out with Wyatt in high school on the weekend, his friends used to do it, and I would watch. Wyatt would’ve surprised you. He’s a scrappy and highly competitive guy.”

“Wow, does he still do that?”

Darren snickered. “No, not anymore. He’s always been a mellow guy, but he’s even more mellow nowadays. He doesn’t really hang out with his old hockey friends, just me and his pals from Northwestern. They’re all pretty cool, but they love going barhopping and getting stoned.”

“Heh, what a lifestyle change.”

“It’s my theory that Wyatt is afraid of doing the Elite Crushers tournament here in Chicago because he’s nervous about how competitive he gets. I think he might worry that one of those other players who talks smack will push him over the edge, and he’ll find himself fighting a guy.”

“No way, you can’t be serious.”

“I said it was just a theory. I don’t necessarily believe it, but I don’t think it should be totally discredited.”

“Fair enough.” I said.

Most of the car ride home was silent. Occasionally we talked about a few things that didn’t really matter.

The following week went by just like any other. School and work. Although three days after Wyatt’s dad blew a gasket on him, Wyatt texted us in our group chat.

It was one of the few things during the week that would never fail to make me smile. Wyatt, Darren, and I belonged in a group chat where we frequently sent memes to each other or joked about random things, but in the middle of class, my phone vibrated, and I saw there was a long message from Wyatt. It was killing me. I wanted to check it, but I couldn’t pull my phone out in class.

While the teacher was talking, I tried to give my phone a peep, but she spotted me instantly.

“Gordie. No phones in class. I can hold onto it for the rest of the day, and you can get it from me after school, or you can read whatever you were reading aloud to the class.”

I was dying to know what Wyatt had said in our chat, but a part of me worried it was something unsavory. Swallowing my pride, I turned my phone in until the end of the school day.

It was only my second class.

All day, I was going to writhe in anticipation. There was no way I was going that long without reading what Wyatt had to say. It didn’t look like a joke or a meme.

When the class period ended, I approached my teacher as she sat at her desk. “Ms. Delph, I wondered if I could get my phone back now? The message I didn’t want to read earlier was something regarding a friend of mine, and it looked pretty serious. Would you mind if I had my phone now?”

She gave a cold hard stare, but shrugged. I turned to see a few kids from class poking around. Once they left, she had apologetic eyes. “You’re a good kid, Gordie. I didn’t want to take your phone away from you earlier, but I have to as a formality. Here’s your phone back. Please don’t make it a habit.”

“Thanks, Ms. Delph,” I said as she placed it in my hands.

“Hey, I know this might be strange to bring up during passing time, but I just remembered, I have an old set of poems that your brother Michael wrote a while back. Might that be something you’d like to have?” She held her eye contact as I looked down at the ground. “I don’t need an answer right away, and I’m sorry to bring that up out of nowhere, but just think about it. I’ll still hold onto them.”

“…Thanks,” I said and walked out of her class.

During my trip to my locker, my head was buried in my phone. Finally, I was able to read the message (more like a novel) that Wyatt had texted to Darren and me.

What up, Brohemian Rhapsodies? I have to give you an update on what happened after Sunday. So Pops yelled at me, right? He went on and on about me getting a job, moving out of the house, and quitting video games. He was very adamant about the video games. It was getting under his skin how much time I devoted to Elite Crushers. Whatever. So after that whole debacle of a conversation and seeing Ma cry, I thought something needed to change. Maybe Pops is right. Perhaps I do need to do something… But I’m not the one to really fit in the workplace environment, ya feel me? You guys know me. You know I’m right. I’ve been told I’m spacey, but I’m not dumb. So, I think Gordie is onto something. I don’t know, guys, but I think we should try the Elite Crushers tourney after all. Bought a pass this morning. It’s also a figurative middle finger to Pops for telling me that nothing will ever come of me playing Elite Crushers. Let’s prove him wrong.

In the middle of my high school hallway, I jumped with glee. I let out a shriek of pure joy, which attracted confused attention from my peers, but I didn’t care. A miracle had happened, and my body had to celebrate.

I went through all my classes daydreaming about the tournament for the rest of the school day. I kept imagining Darren and Wyatt by my side to cheer me on as I played against other challengers, and then me cheering them on, watching Wyatt go all the way to the top and celebrating as he made it to the final eight.

When the last class was over, I got ready to go home, but a reminder rang through my head.

I returned to Ms. Delph’s class, where she talked to two other students. They were part of the National Honor Society -or the secret Illuminati society, as I always joked. I knew I would never be able to get in with my grades, so I had to make light of it somehow.

Ms. Delph was the teacher sponsor for the National Honor Society. I remember my brother really enjoying her classes and her leadership for NHS.

“When you get to high school, Gordie, try to take as many classes as possible with Ms. Delph. She basically does all of the English courses and Creative Writing classes. She’s the best,” Mike would say.

After she answered the questions for the two students, they left with smiles on their faces. They proceeded to loudly joke about something. I approached Ms. Delph and awkwardly waved.

“Hey, Gordy, what’s up?” she asked while organizing things on her desk.

“I thought about what you said earlier, and I just wanted to pick up those poems.”

“Oh. Yes, of course, let me get those for you.” She turned around and pulled open a perfectly organized filing cabinet. After digging around for a couple minutes, she pulled them out and handed them to me facedown. “There you go. These all would have been given an A if you were curious.” She laughed dryly. “I don’t need to tell you, but he was a bright kid,” her voice trembled. “He told me that he had a younger brother, so I held onto these poems, and I wanted to give them to you. I hoped I would have you in my class sooner, but better late than never, right?”

“Absolutely.” I laughed, using my most robust mental defenses against crying.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. And I’m also really sorry for your loss. I know what it’s like, I lost my sister in high school, and she was my best friend,” Ms. Delph’s voice came to a whisper towards the end.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” I said. I nodded and walked out of the classroom.

“Have a nice day, Gordie.”

During my drive home, I kept replaying that scene in my head. I wish I could’ve just said, “Thank you, I really appreciate it. It’s hard for me to talk about because I flood with tears and my brain goes into an emotional overdrive, and I can’t think clearly. I feel paralyzed, and the only thing I can do is cry. I would love to be able to talk about it more, but I don’t want to experience that. Did that also happen to you when your sister passed away? Do you dream about her constantly? Does it feel like a void in your life? Do you feel like you ever fully healed?”

It was nice, though, to have her offer in my pocket. I didn’t have to redeem it that day, but perhaps someday soon.

When I got home, I immediately started homework. I didn’t want to hear any complaints from my parents about me not doing schoolwork, so I did it out in the family room. The TV was on, but it was muted. The only thing on my mind was playing Elite Crushers until I had to go to bed.

I had to train.

When my parents came home, they were in their usual subdued moods.

“Hi, Gordie,” my dad said, who arrived home first. He joined me in sitting in the family room. He didn’t speak another word, and he went through the letters from the day’s mail.

Then my mom came home. “Hi Gordy, hi Frank,” she said, joining us in the family room and pulling out a book to read.

Every part of me wanted to bring out my brother’s poems and show them to my parents, but I thought it would devastate them all over again. I refrained. While I was at the table working on chemistry questions, the curiosity was tugging away at my mind, like a child pulling on a parent’s shirt to get their attention.

When I finished the last problem on the chemistry assignment, I dug through my bookbag and pulled out the folder of poems written by Michael. I held them in my hands like a unique treasure. They were sacred. It almost felt like he was talking from the afterlife.

I observed my mom and my dad, but they were too distracted in their own world. They would have no idea what I had in my hand if I started to read them. Opening the folder, I saw the first page greet me like staring directly into the sun. I snapped the folder shut and set it down. My heart rate spiked, and my stomach sank to the floor.

The title of the first poem said, “To Gordie.”

“I finished my homework,” I blurted. My parents both looked at me with empty eyes.

“That’s great, Gordie. Well done,” my mom said.

“I’ll just be up in my room practicing for the tournament in just a couple of weeks.”

“There’s leftover soup tonight for dinner,” my dad said.

“Yup, I’ll come down again when I’m hungry.” Eating food sounded like the last thing I wanted to do.

I escaped to my bedroom, clutching the folder to my body. As soon as I walked in, a flood of tears overcame me. Even though I wanted to read the poem, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I stashed the folder away in my desk drawer.

Maybe another day, when I feel ready to read it.

The rest of the night was spent hanging out with my friends Soul-Steel and Obsidian-Golem, playing against the computer at the highest difficulty. Which wasn’t much of a challenge for me, but it was better than nothing.