After we finished our spectacular meal in Little Italy, we decided to explore elsewhere around lower Manhattan. There was a place that Amaya really wanted to go to. It was a shop that sold scoops of cookie dough as if it was an ice cream parlor. Fortunately, a park was right across the street from the cookie dough place. The four of us sat around the chairs. We enjoyed our tiny cups of birthday cake cookie dough, chocolate peanut butter, regular chocolate chip, and cookies and cream.

“I just hope that I beat Dayzees. Even if I make it to the finals and lose to someone else, I don’t care. I don’t think my sponsors would mind either, even if I lost in the top 32. Just as long as I beat Dayzees, that’s enough for months of headlines,” Amaya said.

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked, but have you ever beat Dayzees? Like even when you were just hanging around and casually sparring?” I asked.

“I think it might be a good idea to change the subject, not to be rude or anything. I just don’t want you to feel more stressed or think about it too much,” Darren said.

“You know what I really like about this city?” Wyatt blurted. “All of the parks everywhere, I mean, Chicago has some excellent ones, but I feel like every other block you see some green space of some kind. It’s awesome. Amaya, do you have any favorites?”

“Washington Square Park is one of my favorites. It’s one of the more famous ones. We are not too far from it, but it’s getting late, and I’m sure the mosquitoes are out and about. Another one I like a lot is the Highline. It’s like this whole train track that got turned into this nice walking path with a lot of greenery. I remember Stuyvesant Square is another special one because it’s a little more subdued for Manhattan.”

“That’s awesome. It sounds like we have plans for the next couple of days, huh?” Wyatt said with his trademarked hazy smile.

“Yeah, I would love to check those places out. I’m a big fan of just sitting around and people-watching. I think it’s always fun trying to come up with stories for strangers, read their body language and all that stuff,” Darren said.

“Me too,” Amaya said with a smile on her face. “We never really do that back at home, though.”

Darren shrugged. “Guess we’re just playing a little too much Crushers. We can give it a try right now. Look at this old man on the other side of this little park. He’s eating cookie dough with a kid that looks like a teenager.”

“A kid that looks like a teenager?” I echoed. “I’m a little offended.”

“I think he is a grandpa, and that’s his grandson,” Wyatt said.

“How about this, that’s his nephew, and he’s his uncle,” I said.

Darren shook his head as he took one last chomp of his cookie dough cup. “You guys are really terrible at this.” He chuckled. “I don’t know. You have to think with better details than that. Anyone can just say that, so what if they are grandson and grandfather. That’s not interesting. What if it’s just a high school kid getting some community service hours for some honors accolade. So he has this old man neighbor that he spends time with because he has no one else in his life.”

“Eh, that’s a little too dark for me, Brodie O’Donnell,” Wyatt said, and I silently laughed. Amaya giggled.

“I think the grandson may take turns watching his grandfather with his other siblings, and they do this every other weekend to appease their strict parents. They prefer spending time with their grandpa as opposed to the parents because he’s much nicer and understands how intense they are. So whenever they hang out, Grandpa pays for their way for everything, and he shows them the more fun sides of life. They go to sporting events together, coffee shops, diners, and even see movies and plays,” Amaya said as if she was hypnotized.

“Oh my, A-Bro-ham Lincoln, that was effing beautiful, Amaya,” Wyatt said.

Amaya broke from her trance and snickered to herself. “Well, come on, guys, let’s go back to the hotel. We have a big day tomorrow.”

The following morning we woke up at 8 to locate a diner just to fill up on a mighty breakfast for the day; Amaya had to be at Madison Square Garden at 10 AM. Darren, Wyatt, and I could show up whenever. We had the spectator passes for the singles tournament. Friday, they held the early rounds, one through six. I think they broke it up into two days because the Madison Square Garden tournament looked much more crowded. They realized they could sell spectator passes for two days to watch everyone, then sell passes for the top thirty-two, who played on Saturday, starting at 5PM and going until 9PM. I knew all this information because I watched the live tournament stream last year. It was unique because it lasted three days instead of just Saturday and Sunday. Spectator passes were sold out for all three nights; we were lucky to have Amaya pay for us.

After breakfast at the diner, we hopped on the train and arrived in Madison Square Garden 30 minutes early. I couldn’t believe how crowded it was. Finding the correct line to get in was a headache. The whole area surrounding Madison Square Garden had so many people hustling and bustling around that I had no idea where to go. Thank goodness for Amaya. She could lead the way like a shining star in the night sky. Many people burst out with excited greetings as soon as they set eyes on Amaya. I felt like I was a roadie for a rockstar. Amaya was smiling the entire time and waving back at everyone. At one point, when we all bunched up together among a crowd of people, slowly entering the Garden, she turned around. She whispered to the three of us, “I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown right now.”

“It’s all right. We’re here for you. You’re not alone in this. You got your friends. You’re good, just remember that you’re all good up here,” Darren said, pointing to his head and putting his hand on Amaya’s back.

It seemed to heal her frown a little bit.

“D’you think it’d be kosher if I sparked a joint right now?” Wyatt asked.

Amaya laughed and held up her hand to cover her mouth. Wyatt turned and winked at me, which I’m glad he did. He was a weird enough guy that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he was serious about smoking a joint in the middle of the crowd. Once again, Wyatt stuck out like a sore thumb wearing his above-the-knee shorts, a tank top, and his paisley headband. It looked like he was about to go on a themed ‘hippie run’ five-kilometer race.

Eventually, Amaya split off from us, and then we found our seats in the lower bowl, but we had the flexibility to go on the floor and spectate those matches. Amaya was doing signings while they were still getting people in for registration. We decided to walk over to the signings section, but we stumbled upon something that made my jaw drop.

At Dayzees’s table, Amaya was screaming at his face, “How could you? How could you say something like that after you won the Miami tournament? What’s your problem?”

“Uh, oh,” Darren uttered as the three of us stood by, watching a crowd of people circle around them, pulling out their phones and recording the scene.

Dayzees looked stoic and unperturbed. “Did you watch the whole thing? Or did you just turn it off right away? I have a feeling I know what happened. Because I’m a good guy, I will not go there with you right now. I’ll just further your embarrassment in the tournament this weekend.”

“What’s he talkin’ about?” Wyatt asked.

Darren and I shrugged.

“I guess there’s more to the story. We never ended up watching the rest of his victory speech. Nor did I look up what he had to say. I wanted to stay away from that, ya know?” I said.

Amaya looked like a malfunctioning robot who encountered a glitch on a talking command. Her lips quivered up and down like she was trying to form a sentence, and then she muttered, “Sorry,” and stormed back to her signing booth, where she still had a line of people waiting to get her autograph.

“I’m not liking the looks of this already,” Darren said, shaking his head.

“I’m with ya, pal. This is rough,” I added.

“Should we do anything?” Wyatt asked.

“Like what, what are we supposed to do? What can we do? It seemed like the situation resolved itself,” Darren said.

I nodded.

Wyatt sighed. “Alright then, let’s go and see where our seats are since I don’t know what else to do.”

We walked to our seating section, but not many people were sitting in the stadium chairs. Many people were on the floor watching up close at stations. They had partitions on the floor to host the top players in their matches because they drew a bigger crowd. Darren, Wyatt, and I walked over to the section where Amaya was playing at. No one was checking for seat numbers yet. It was the start of the tournament, and the areas for the professional players filled up the stadium seats pretty well, even though most of them were playing against nobodies. A glimpse of seeing one of the top players live was art in itself.

It didn’t take long for us to find Amaya’s first match once things started. Even though she missed the Miami tournament and hollered at Dayzees earlier, she still drew the biggest crowd out of the other professional players. Although you might be able to argue that Dayzees had just as many people watching his games, they weren’t cheering nearly as loud as they were for Amaya.

In round one of her first match, she destroyed her opponent. It looked like a cakewalk for her. She probably could have been washing dishes and conversing while playing that match, and she still would have won with flying colors. Games one and two were over like two lightning strikes in the middle of a severe thunderstorm.

“Amaya will advance to the next round!” the moderator yelled.

Darren, Wyatt, and I screamed at the top of our lungs.

“We can’t keep hollering at the end of every round that Amaya wins. We’re going to destroy our voices,” I said.

The day flew by. After Amaya won her round three matchup, the four of us decided to get a slice of New York-style pizza, which I had high expectations for since it’s always touted as the best pizza from what I heard. Although, we went to a spot close to Madison Square Garden so we wouldn’t be too far from the venue and walked inside, where they were serving up giant, singular slices. One piece was enough to make a whole lunch. If you wanted a chance, you had to fold it in half and eat it with your hands.

We sat at a tiny table in the corner of the crowded pizza joint. After we all had a few bites, I looked at Wyatt and Darren.

“I know the slice of pizza was pretty cheap, but is it me, or does this kind of suck?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s definitely not the best, but it’s still pizza.” Darren shrugged it off.

“It’s like I’m eating a piece of cardboard with a thin layer of tomato sauce and cheese,” Wyatt said. “Amaya, please don’t tell me this represents all the other pizza in New York?”

She shook her head and finished chewing her bite. “It doesn’t, but there’s a lot of pizza like this.”

“It’s like they put this thing through a microwave. Basically, it’s been sitting there for God knows how long. It looks like it just came out of the refrigerator,” Wyatt grumbled, but Amaya found it quite humorous as she kept giggling and had to stop eating.

“I have to be careful eating around you when you’re talking. You’re a real safety hazard. I’m afraid I might choke if I laugh too hard.”

“I understand Chicago style is not for everyone, and maybe I’m a little biased, but Chicago style is way better. Has more flavor, it’s thicker, it’s richer, all around the better pizza.”

“Amen,” Darren and I said simultaneously, and then the four of us cracked up.

“So I’m still feeling a little nervous, guys. Did you see how I made a fool of myself earlier?” Amaya said.

The three of us all looked at each other, unsure what to say (or at least Wyatt and I).

“I wouldn’t say you made a fool of yourself. Dayzees has a reputation for getting under people’s skin. No one saw what happened beforehand. Maybe they assumed that he made a remark, which ticked you off.”

“At least you didn’t shove him like some psycho!” Wyatt beamed, Darren gave a tight-lipped grin at first, and then all four of us started laughed like a pack of hyenas.

People in the restaurant shot us side-eyes, but we didn’t let that bother us. We were having fun, and as a 17-year-old, I felt so unbelievably cool for one of the first few times in my life.

I wanted to say, “Real talk, though, you got this, Amaya. You’ve been playing fantastically, don’t get in your head about it.” But I was still following Darren’s lead on social navigation. I was worried that Amaya would tighten up and lose control if I said that. She had been playing with a purpose, a vengeance, like some comic book character. Just two more rounds, that’s all she needs, and then we’ll be there tomorrow.