Rack 'Em Up

Blake walked to the door and opened it. Inside, the smell of food and the low hum of the TV led Blake like a siren leads it’s pray. He entered the kitchen and he saw his mom in an apron in front of the stove. A delicious smell filled his nostrils.

“Hi mom, what’s for dinner?” he asked.

His mom turned around abruptly, visibly scared, but she relaxed when she saw Blake.

“God, you scared me, Blake.” she said with her hand on her heart and breathing deeply.

Blake scratched the back of his head “Sorry, didn't mean to.”

“It’s okay and to answer your question, for dinner we have homemade lasagna.” His mom, Elise, replied.

“Lasagna? My favourite!” Blake exclaimed

Elise gently laughed “We’ve heard about your loss and I wanted to cheer you up a bit”

“Aww, thanks mom, you didn’t have to” Blake said as he hugged her.

In that moment Nick and Ethan entered the kitchen

“Hi Aunt Elise!” Nick and Ethan greeted her. She wasn’t Ethan’s aunt, but she told him to call her that a long time ago since he and Blake have been friends since childhood.

Blake turned around to look at his friends then he remembered something.

“Mom, how did you know we lost? He looked around the room trying to solve the puzzle until finally he put tow an two together. Ethan, you told her?”

“Guilty as charged” replied Ethan, raising his hands in mock surrender

“I can’t believe it, but hey, if it gets me lasagna everytime I lose, I might lose more on purpose” Blake joked.

“Don’t even think about it, mister.” His mother said as she pointed a finger towards him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t. Where's dad?” Blake asked.

“He’s in the living room watching some game.” His mother replied.

“Alright, thanks mom, call us when dinner’s ready” Blake responded.

And with that the three teens went to the basement. When they arrived they weren’t shocked, because they'd already seen it, but a new guest’s jaw would probably hit the floor. The basement was decorated to be a game room. It had a pool table, some arcade machines and most shocking of all a giant screen with 3 spacious couches. A small private cinema. Even though the Hartleys don’t have the fortune they once had, the “game room” at the basement has been preserved for decades and remodeled in the 90s so the only “new” thing is the giant 100 inch TV screen.

When they got down they decided to play pool. 1v1 and the winner stays on.

Blake picked up a cue stick from the rack, spinning it once in his hand.

“Alright, Nick,” Blake said, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s see if your talk matches your aim.”

“Please. You’re about to get humbled,” Nick shot back, already chalking his cue like a pro.

Blake broke. The crack of the cue ball shattered the quiet like a firework. A solid dropped into the side pocket.

“I’ll take solids,” Blake announced with a little grin.

Nick narrowed his eyes. “Of course you will.”

The game began.

Nick wasn’t bad — in fact, he was damn good when he got serious. But Blake was focused tonight. After the sting of the game loss earlier, he needed a win — even a small one — to stop the dull throb in his chest. He lined up each shot like he was back on the court, angles and rebounds dancing in his head.

Blake dropped a second ball in, but missed the third. Nick smirked.

“My turn.”

Nick’s style was all swagger. Fast, a little reckless, but weirdly effective. He pulled off a rail shot that even Ethan let out a whistle for.

“Okay, I see you,” Ethan said, arms crossed as he leaned on the third cue.

Nick sank three in a row, then missed a fourth by a hair. The ball teetered on the lip of the pocket and rolled back out.

“Damn,” Nick muttered.

“Almost had me,” Blake said, eyeing the table.

What followed was tense — back and forth, close shots, near misses, and narrowed eyes. Finally, both had only the 8-ball left.

Nick lined up a long shot across the table, biting his tongue in concentration. He hit it just a bit too hard — the 8-ball clipped the rim and bounced wide.

Blake took his time. Measured the angle. Stroked the cue forward.

The 8-ball sank smoothly into the side pocket.

“Boom,” Blake said simply.

Nick threw his cue onto the table with a groan. “Seriously? I had you. That miss was nothing.”

“You didn’t have me,” Blake said, grinning. “You had a dream.”

“You two are insufferable,” Nick muttered, already heading toward the arcade corner. “I need to punch something pixelated.”

“Play Mortal Kombat,” Ethan called after him. “Take it out on Scorpion.”

Ethan cracked his knuckles, then broke. A striped dropped into the far corner pocket with a satisfying plunk.

He played patiently — always had. The way he studied the table, you’d think he was planning a chess match instead of a game of pool. Blake knew Ethan’s strength was his calm: never too excited, never too rattled. He was the only guy Blake knew who could keep cool in any situation — well, unless you messed with his guitar pedals.

Ethan dropped another ball in.

“See that?” Nick said from behind the arcade machine, barely glancing over as he mashed buttons. “That’s how you play pool like an accountant.”

“Call me what you want,” Ethan replied, sinking a third shot. “But I get results.”

Blake shook his head and leaned on his cue. “Alright, alright, your turn’s over. Give me the table.”

Ethan missed his next shot. Blake stepped up.

This game was even closer than the first. Every miss was followed by a retaliation. Blake went on a short streak, catching up, only for Ethan to pull ahead again.

As the match narrowed, Nick left the arcade corner, soda in hand, and stood behind Ethan. “C’mon man, don’t let him win again. That ego can only inflate so much before we lose him.”

“I’m not losing,” Ethan said quietly, lining up the final shot on the 8-ball. “I’m ending this.”

He struck — clean, smooth — but the ball grazed the pocket’s rim and bounced back into play.

“Oh no,” Nick muttered. “He pulled a me.”

Blake walked around the table slowly, eyeing the angle. His cue tapped gently against the floor. It was a tricky shot, but not impossible. He took a breath. Aimed. Fired.

The 8-ball rolled in — neat, fast, final.

Blake stepped back with a soft laugh. “Guess I’m on fire tonight.”

Ethan gave a nod of respect. “Barely. But fair play.”

Nick grumbled. “You guys are so annoying. Both of you.”

He stormed back to the arcade and punched the buttons furiously as Street Fighter II blared again. Chun-Li’s battle cries echoed faintly under the hum of the game room.

Blake plopped onto the middle couch, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Tell me again how I’m not the king of the basement?”

Ethan rolled his eyes, joining him. “Because next time, I’m winning.”

“You said that last time.”

“Still true.”

Nick’s voice came from the arcade. “You’re both dead to me.”

Blake laughed — a real laugh this time. Not ****, not masked. The weight of the game earlier that day wasn’t gone, but for now, in this basement, surrounded by the people who made him feel most like himself, it didn’t seem so heavy.