Game on

"So what are we playing?" You look at Lincoln, wishing you could whack that smug grin right off his face. "How does a newbie prove themselves?"

Lincoln gives your challenger a nod. "Jake's pick. Our turf, our rules."

You roll your eyes and look back at Jake. He's smiling wide, showing off his parents' lack of orthodontic budget. "Smash Bros. No items, three stock." The rest of the boys laugh, clearly excited to see their champion show the new girl who's boss.

Why, thank you, Jake.

You couldn't have asked for a better platform to prove yourself on. Smash Bros is one of your favorite games, and the only fighting game you consider yourself any good at. Well, better than good. You consistently whoop your friends and online randos. This will be a cakewalk.

You grab a chair near the Nintendo as Jake boots up the game. He hands you a controller and gives you a condescending look. "You do know how to use one of these, right?"

"Oh yeah, of course. I press this button to kick your ass, right?"

George laughs. He's the only one. Jake starts setting up the game mode. "Now, three stock means it's first to three knockouts. And no items means no random bullshit, this is pure skill."

"Jee-zuss man, c'mon. I know how to smash, alright?"

One of the boys in the back calls out "Oh I bet you know how to smash!" The room erupts in derisive laughter.

What? That doesn't even make sense. You feel your cheeks start to heat up. Shit, this room is warm.

Before the discomfort becomes a distraction, you take off your sweatshirt. "Oh damn she's serious now!" The same boy gets the same laughter for his non-joke. You do your best to ignore it and focus. You're way more comfortable in your t-shirt, and that's what matters. Let the boys have their fun. You'll show them who's serious soon enough.

Jake nudges you with his elbow. "In this screen you pick your character."

You let out an angry breath through your nose. This punk was starting to get to you, and you were anxious to get to the part where you mopped the floor with him. He had chosen Pikachu as his fighter, a common pick for amateurs and cheap players. You briefly consider going with one of your backups to give the boy a fighting chance, but he had pissed you off too much already.

He was getting the Princess.

Lincoln laughs when you make your selection. "Princess Peach? Are you serious? The girl is gonna play Princess Peach. OK, wow."

The other spectators join in the mockery. George pipes up in your defense but is quickly laughed down. You try to block it all out and focus. They would stop laughing soon enough.

Jake hits Start, and the randomizer picks Kirby's Dreamland as the game map. This just keeps getting better and better. This map was perfect for Peach's playstyle, plus you really dig the music. The in-game announcer counts down from three.

Two.

One.

GO!

And you're off. The room erupts in cheers as your initial lunge is dodged, but you quickly follow up with an aerial attack that lands perfectly. You keep the pressure on, driving up your opponent's percentage meter and making him more and more **** to a knockout. He's having trouble responding, and by the time you land your first knockout blow he had barely touched you.

"One down, two to go Jakey-boy. That all you got?"

He gives you a short chuckle. "We'll see."

His fighter reappears on the map, and he uses his brief period of invincibility to land a few quick blows. The room was starting to get loud. Everyone is cheering for Jake, except George. Your poor friend is desperately trying to give you a morale boost, but his voice just can't keep up with the crowd. Doesn't matter, you don't need a cheerleader. You just need to win.

Jake was starting to fight back more effectively, but you still have an advantage. You keep to the air, smacking him down whenever he tries to jump after you. His percentage meter climbs and climbs, already back into the danger zone. He just can't seem to catch you.

Until he does.

You go for a dash attack to try and set up another knockout blow, but he counters with a grab. He throws you to the ground, gets in a couple of quick hits, then grabs you again. He repeats this a few times, your thumbs madly twitching at the controls, trying to break free of his punishing combo. In moments, your percentage meter has skyrocketed, and he throws you off screen before you can respond.

The room erupts in cheers. You look at Jake out of the corner of your eye. His small smile infuriates you. Okay RC, no more playing nice.

The moment your character reappears, you go for an aggressive attack to take advantage of the invincibility period. He dodges it easily. As soon as you're **** again, he's on you. You manage to land a few more good hits, but you can't keep up. It's like he's predicting your moves before you make them. In the blink of an eye, he's knocked you out again.

The laughter and cheers are now peppered with trash talk.

"Get that bitch, Jake!"

"Did you forget you weren't playing the Sims?"

"Sorry Princess, but your win is in another castle!"

You try to change up your tactics. You pull out every trick you can think of, **** to find an edge. Your breaths get short and your mind buzzes with humiliation every time Jake easily counters one of your moves. A strange, warm pressure starts to build inside you. Pressing your thighs together, you squirm in your seat. C'mon RC! Focus!

It's no use. Before you can even knock him out for a second time, he lands the killing blow and sends the room into a cacophony of cheers and hooting. Jake just looks at you, that same little smile on his face. "I knew you were a fake gamer girl."

You can't look him in the eye. Lincoln's voice cuts through the crowd. "Wow! Two stocked! How embarrassing."

You look back at Lincoln, your cheeks hot. "OK, whatever, I lost one match. That was a warmup."

Lincoln smiles. "So you're saying you want more punishment?"

You squeeze your thighs together again, that weird pressure getting worse. "I'm saying let's play a real match. That didn't count." You hate how lame your voice sounds, like you're a whiny kid who didn't get their way. Fuck it, I need to show them I can win.

"Real matches mean wagers, you know. Our turf, our rules." He cocks his head to the side. "How about this: you win a rematch, we stop calling you a fake gamer girl and you get full club standing."

Oh, how enticing. "And if I lose?"

"We get your bra." The boys shriek with laughter.

Your eyes go wide, and your thighs clamp together. "What?! My bra?"

"You can keep your shirt on, don't worry." He cocks his head to the other side. "And think of it like this: either way, you're becoming one of the guys. After all, none of us are wearing bras."

The mocking laughter assaults your ears. You cannot believe the arrogance of this fucking asshole. You don't give a shit about standing in his stupid gamer club. All you care about is shutting all these punks up and putting Lincoln in his place.

You look at George. His eyes are wide and he's shaking his head, silently begging you not to do it. He has a point. The thought of losing again is almost too much to handle. And having to give these guys your bra...

You squirm in your seat.