...Friends...

"Leah, are you kidding me?" Jake objected at the mention of A.J.'s name. "I don't even play for her team."

Leah gave this only an indifferent shrug.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," A.J.'s relieved voice called out as she stepped into the sun, "I'm glad you're okay, Han. You scared the shit out of me when you disappeared like that."

"Wait? You two were..." Jake started, confused.

"Plotting to run away together," A.J. finished, for him. "You jealous yet?"

Jake stood still, trying to process what that could actually mean.

"We were catching up, Jake," Hannah clarified impatiently, "She's my friend, too, you know."

"Uh...right. Sorry," He said. "Look, I didn't...it's just really not funny."

"No, it's not. This is all pretty fucked up actually," A.J. admitted, having now arrived at the lounge, "But when fucked up happens, I take refuge under humor."

Jake turned to Leah.

"You can't seriously expect a lesbian to compete to seduce me or whatever, right?" He asked. "This is crazy."

She gave him a skeptical look.

"Well, love, if you think that's crazy," She said with a smug grin Jake liked not even a little, "Then you are going to love my choice for contestant number four."

*****

Ryan Jones-Ali sat staring at two screens in his parents' Brooklyn basement. One displayed an attractive young streamer with whom both he and Jake were once quite taken, the other a zoom in on the game of Overwatch she'd been playing in the footage in question.

Ryan tapped a few keys, putting each video into synchronized, though frame by frame motion. D.Va's reticle chased down an Ana moving a tad too slowly on her right, while the mouse supposedly controlling her turned left.

"I knew it!" He proclaimed triumphantly, "I fucking! Knew it!"

"Brilliant detective work," A shrill and accented voice called out, followed by the creaking of the basement stairs.

"Oh, shit..." Ryan grumbled, trying to put it away.

"I'm very proud of you," His mother proclaimed as she appeared around the corner. "I take it you finally cracked the case of the game cheating internet girl you were on about."

How long had she been here? And how had he not heard her come in?

"It's a streamer, Mom. I'm pretty sure she's defrauding her fans."

Dr. Farra Jones-Ali stood before him, hand on her hip with an impatience unique to non-western mothers. Though a smaller woman at only 5'4, she was nothing if not imposing. Curvy, with wide hips and a full chest, her 55 years had faded her beauty, but sharpened her wits, and her tenured career as a college professor allowed her to wield them with cutting efficacy.

"Because you were all watching her for her tremendous competitive talents, no doubt," Farra said. "Now that such a menace to society has been exposed, I don't suppose you could utilize your brilliance toward endeavors more humble? Managing the store you're supposed to be at, perhaps?"

Okay. So she _had _memorized his shifts. Good lord, where did she even find the time?

"I uh...I..." He said, grasping for lie briefly before opting for capitulation. "Yes, Lady."

From a different man, that might have been construed as an insult. But Farra recognized it for the term of respect and endearment that it was.

For all their clashes of this sort, Ryan had always felt vaguely awed by his mother. A poor Iranian immigrant, she'd married his father George at 18, after meeting and charming him in a grocery store where she cashiered and he, though not quite out of college himself, served as the general manager. It would turn out to be the first in a chain of twelve that he would eventually own. As his personal wealth grew, Farra used it to forge her own path through academia, earning a doctorate in sociology even while raising him. They'd eventually moved Ryan, and themselves, to New York City where George could enjoy the benefits of a corporate office space, and she could teach at Colombia. Two driven people who, despite having a largely businesslike relationship, formed one of the New York City social scene's more notable power couples.

And then there was Ryan. Tall, blonde, white and bearded, Ryan had inherited all of his father's looks, all of his mother's wits, both their fortunes, and neither's sense of ambition or purpose. Though nominally given one of his father's stores to manage in hopes that he'd learn the family business, his style of leadership could charitably be described as delegatory, and more honestly as absentee. He preferred pursuing creative endeavors, chasing girls and spending time with his friends.

"Well, since you're here, soldier," Farra said with a nod upstairs, "Perhaps you could help me with some boxes."

"Of course, Lady," He repeated, taking some comfort in the ghost of a smile that played on her lips.

The boxes, as it turned out, where research files. Fresh ones, from the look of it.

"What's all this?" He asked.

"My new project. Parasocial relationships in the digital age," She explained, "Lest I mislead you into believing your escapades are completely meritless, you actually have inspired some valuable research. I'm presenting the preliminaries to Dr. Ratsinger this afternoon."

He loaded the last box into his Mom's Audi.

"How's the ol' Dean of Soc doing these day?"

"I'd call him a sack of shit, but that would be an insult to manure," She said with disdain, though no small degree of humor, "That's actually useful for something, and these days, the only thing he's fertilizing are his TAs."

Ryan gave a low whistle.

"Hefty allegation."

"If I could prove it, I would have him relegated to an assistant professorship and Kingston Community College. But until such time, he remains my superior. In title, if not principle."

Farra closed her trunk, then leaned on the car, fixing him with a gaze that penetrated to his soul. There was a lecture coming, and Ryan really didn't want anything to do with it.

"Well if you need an ace detective, you know where my office is," Ryan tried.

"I won't let you charm your way out of this one, boy." Farra said. "I love you dearly, but even a mother's patience has limits."

Her tone softened, and she patted the quarter panel next to her.

"Come here," She said softly.

Ryan sensed a trap, but did as she bid.

"You're a good boy, but you're a fucking lazy one," She said, not unkindly. "I won't promise that we'll disinherit you, or kick you out or anything like that, because you know as well as I do that the threat would be empty."

"Okay," Ryan agreed, recognizing a good time for quiet reticence when he saw one.

"I just want you to find something. I can't tell you what it should be, but the good times won't roll forever," She said. "30's not so young. One day you'll wake up and find that everyone you used to pal around with has been married. That kids are coming, and that nobody has time for you anymore. To be on an island like that, and with nothing to drive you afterward...that sort of fear is why I got my own education."

Ryan nodded. The message was hitting closer to home than he'd have cared to admit.

"I...don't know if I know how," he admitted.

She reached up to pat his shoulder.

"Best find out. You know I love you with all my heart. But someday, we all have to grow up."

The world around Ryan swam for a moment. Was he...crying? No, this was something else. Like he was literally underwater.

"Ryan?!" An alarmed voice said nearby. And then it sounded very far away.

*****

"Ryan?!" Jake cried out in an alarmed voice that was almost her echo a short time later. "You picked fucking Ryan?!"

"Why not?" Leah asked. "Ryan's your best friend."

"He's a man!" Jake almost shouted. "Jesus...you pick my two best friends, one who isn't into men and who is one."

He ran his hands through his air.

"How are either of them supposed to compete?"

"Yeah, no shit!" Ryan agreed.

"I don't even fucking want to." A.J. added.

Leah seemed nonplussed.

"It's a dynamic show," She said mildly, "A lot can change. Now. Let's move on."

Jake sat back in his chair, unbelieving at how ugly this group was becoming....and unaware of how much worse it was about to get.